


workplace conversations

by oblivioluna



Category: Purple Hyacinth (Webcomic)
Genre: Angst Before The Fluff, But the Fluff is Really Fluffy, Childhood Trauma, Communication, Dark Past, Earn Your Happy Ending, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Past Violence, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder Mentions, Resolution, Secret Identities (Again), Slow Build, Trauma Bonding Highkey, WRITTEN BY THE PEOPLE FOR THE PEOPLE!!!!, but i will not let the masses suffer because i am kind, continuation of the plot but not really because i want office romance, here we go with the slowburn, how to get a guy in...ten steps? ish, i know why you're here you know why you're here it ain't that deep chief, office au laid ease, soph and eph are out to kill us
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-06-25
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:53:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 27,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23404825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oblivioluna/pseuds/oblivioluna
Summary: Perhaps the pain in her head isn’t just from Belladonna’s surprise attack.Perhaps it is also due to her ex-partner, ex-confidante, and current pain in the ass subordinate’s decision to infiltrate her workplace under the guise of an archivist of all things.But one thing is for certain:Lauren Sinclair will kill Kieran White.(POST SEASON 1 CANON-COMPLIANT AU)
Relationships: Kym Ladell/William Hawkes (background), Lauren Sinclair/Kieran White
Comments: 86
Kudos: 423





	1. darling daisy

Perhaps the pain in her head isn’t just from Belladonna’s surprise attack.

Perhaps it is also due to her ex-partner, ex-confidante, and current pain in the ass _subordinate’s_ decision to infiltrate _her_ workplace under the guise of an _archivist_ of all things.

One thing is for certain:

Lauren Sinclair will kill Kieran White.

Here he stands before her. There he stands before her, posed like a marble statue of some sort, conducted and prim and proper and - is that a shyness she senses? Hair slicked back into a raven ponytail, not a strand out of place. Eyes that gaze at her coolly from behind wire frames that compliment the sharp contours of his face. He’s dressed only in a simple dress shirt and slacks with a badge poking out of his pocket, but the aura that radiates off of him is nothing, nothing at all like the razor-sharp and calculating killer she is so used to prowling the streets with at night - and once, even walking beside them in the daylight, breathing in the morning fog as the air had swept around both of them.

There was a blue coat and a smile and a--

No.

Now is not the time.

Guilt coats Lauren like a slather of blood, the gooseflesh at her hackles rising to meet her warming temperament. Anger. Anger comes first, as it always does, the familiar feeling cradling her in the comforting need to strike, to pounce, to do something. To punish him for what he’s put her through. To scream, to yell. The guilt never leaves her, and yet, it slides off of him as easily as the stain of those he has murdered. Nothing haunts him. No horrors of his past, no dead childhood friends, no ghosts--lucky bastard. What a lucky bastard the man is.

And then there is the less familiar sensation of a dreadful calm washing over her. She cannot act like this in the station; Kym would suspect, and even Will would catch on. Forget Hermann, who’d boot her in a second. Jumping a coworker wouldn’t exactly be correct courtesy. And neither would killing him either.

And then there is a small, but poignant, twinge in her chest that raises its arms and beckons.

_I’m here,_ it croons. _I’ve missed you._

Lauren promptly cocks her pistol and shoots it straight in the face.

“Hello, Mr. White,” she grits out. “Lauren Sinclair. A pleasure.”

“It’s a pleasure as well, Ms. Sinclair,” he says smoothly, tipping his head downwards a tiny bit. Rage surges in her blood as she realizes he’s pretending to be meek in front of her, and nearly explodes out of her once again as she realizes he is all too good at doing so. Kym bumping his arm and smiling timidly at him all but proves it.

“Don’t be shy, Kieran!” she teases, grinning at him. Lauren forces out a laugh -- her friend’s always tried to make newcomers feel more welcome, no matter who they are. It’s one of the things she loves most about the lieutenant. “What, don’t tell me Lauren actually intimidates you?”

It doesn’t matter at all that he doesn’t deserve a second of it, no.

“No, it’s not that,” he replies, chuckling slightly. “It’s just that Lauren here seems strangely familiar.”

If looks could kill, Kieran would be dead in cold blood by now.

There was a cave and rain and--

“I see.” She smiles so tightly she feels as if her entire face will crack apart. “Mr. White, why don’t you go help yourself to some of the pastries? I’ll be here later if--”

“Actually, I was hoping you could show me around the building.” Kieran shrugs nonchalantly, as if what last occurred between them is absolutely _nothing,_ as if near-choking someone to death counts as _nothing_ and is just an odd piece of their past left behind in the dust. “I was hoping to get familiar with where I work. With the archives and all.”

“Eager to work so soon?” Kym scoffs, although there’s a light in her eyes Lauren can’t quite pinpoint. “You really don’t have to look at the archives now. They’ve barely been touched even these few weeks. It’s a dusty place. Boring.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Kieran says, and this time, Lauren does not give him the satisfaction of her gaze. “If Ms. Sinclair wouldn’t mind showing me them--”

“I will,” she says abruptly, the smile sliding onto her face easier this time. _Pretend, Sinclair. It’s all an act. A dance._ “I don’t mind at all.” A dance. Like how they’ve danced around each other before, numerous times, in different situations. When everything was easier - or at least, simpler. 

Lauren Sinclair, for the most part, lives up to her name. Light. Clarity. Kieran had been brunt force; she’d been the brains. She’d been ice in the heat of battle, ready to strike like a viper. Emotions had never clouded her judgment until now. Now, the heat has made her a living flame, bitter with regret and ready to consume all that is in her path. After all, they’re no longer allies. There’s nothing stopping her from - a worse fate, perhaps, or acting recklessly. 

If Kieran hadn’t killed Anslow. If he hadn’t killed all of their witnesses. If she’d gotten away with interrogating Flemmings. If. _If if if if._

_If_ is no longer existent. _If_ is only _now._

The thought sends a thrill of pleasure through her nerves, and Lauren motions to him with her hand. 

“Come on. I’ll take you down to the second floor.”

And so it begins.

____

The archives room is dusty, as Kym had promised. It doesn’t surprise Lauren in the slightest, even though the precinct’s detectives had supposedly been digging through the room in an attempt to discover Lune’s identity and the reason behind their witnesses’ murders. She knows they’ll find nothing. 

Especially now that they’ve literally planted their number one assassin in the 11th. 

The Purple Hyacinth, an archivist, for the police - how on earth had he even infiltrated her precinct?! And their top assassin, working here, of all places. Something’s wrong. If they need him here, her goal may be further out of reach than she thought. And if he even _thinks_ about harming any of her friends, her threats to shoot will become much more than threats.

Oh.

_If_ isn’t here anymore.

Kieran is currently glancing at the rows and rows of metal shelves within the tiny room they occupy, filled with countless stacks of records, precedents, unsolved cases. He’s browsing through a shelf to her left, mouth halfway parted to ask a question, when she strikes. 

They collapse into the nearest shelf, Lauren holding him down with one hand, the other on the trigger of her pistol. Kieran doesn’t make a sound as they collide with metal, and a loud _bang_ sounds throughout the room. She hides her visibly shaking hands as she goes to lock the door, shuttering the blinds so that no one sees what she’s about to do.

“You--”

He abruptly goes silent as the barrel of her gun meets his neck.

“You shouldn’t be here,” she says, and her voice doesn’t shake like she thought it would. Lauren’s anger may be filling her with the desire to murder him right now, but the calm that overtakes her in the heat of a police chase has currently pulled her under right now, and all that Kieran sees is a pair of icy amber eyes staring him down, filled with a thousand emotions racing through her brain at a million miles per hour. 

She hopes the makeup on her neck hasn’t slipped off to reveal the bruises he gave her. Weakness isn’t allowed, not here, and definitely not now. 

“You shouldn’t be here at all,” she repeats, her throat going dry. “I know that we broke our contract, but if Phantom Scythe placed you in here to stake out my station, or to harm anyone in here, I’ll drag you outside the dumpsters and get rid of you myself.”

“No pistols this time?” Kieran teases, but he still isn’t smiling, the calm in his face covering even the slightest facial expression like a mask. “You’re losing your touch, officer.”

_“Why are you here.”_

“You guessed right,” is all he says, gently pushing her off him. “The Leader placed me in here for a reason.”

“Do they suspect your loyalty?”

“Not in the slightest.” Kieran looks grimer than after. 

“My loyalty they haven’t a doubt in. It’s Lune they’re after.”

Lauren nearly draws blood from her palms, and frantically relaxes her balled fists. She should’ve known this was bound to occur - the police force caught on first, and now, naturally, the opposing side will follow. A laugh bubbles up in her throat, and she clamps a hand over her mouth. How darkly funny all of this is. Lune doesn’t even exist on paper anymore, and certainly doesn’t exist in person any longer. What happened between them in the past is gone and awash in rivers of water and blood.

“Is something funny, officer?”

“They won’t have to worry about Lune,” Lauren bites out, running a hand through her disheveled hair. She really should comb it - but when exactly was the last time she bothered to give a second’s thought to her appearance? In the last 48 hours, she’s tried death too many times to even care at this point. “They’re searching for an entity that doesn’t exist anymore. Perhaps tactics that won’t even occur from now on. Lune’s good as dead.”

Kieran flinches. _Flinches._ As if Lauren has struck him across the face. Maybe she should. It will be the least she can do after all he’s put her through. “You’re not seriously--”

“I don’t know what you expected from me,” she says coldly, “but you’re not getting your alliance. For the sake of both our sides, it’s better this way anyhow. I won’t risk getting caught by Hermann any longer, and the Leader won’t even consider you a suspect when - if - this all comes to a head.”

He steps forward, and Lauren steps back reflexively. Phantom fingers close over her throat, and suddenly, Lauren is back in that damp, cold cave all over again, begging for her life as she frantically tries to pry away the hand that nearly crushes her windpipe. All that stares at her out of the darkness is a pair of eyes from behind a crown of raven hair, the light in them nearly swallowed up by the shadows within.

“Lauren.”

“You have all you need,” she says, gesturing to the archives around her. Her fingers are trembling. She should get out. Now. “So don’t go chasing after something you won’t achieve, Hyacinth.”

The last word is an arrow to the heart, but Lauren doesn’t dare watch Kieran’s expression shift from nothing into a horrified _something_ as she leaves the archives, slamming the door shut with all the force she can muster.

____

  
  


A ritual calms the mind.

A ritual cleanses all the questions swirling in her mind.

_What are you going to do now? With Kieran? How will you cover this all up if Kym and Will suspect something is off between you two? What if Phantom Scythe truly catches you in the act?_

_What happened to your revenge in Dylan’s name?_

All of those are gone with a twist of lock and key.

Lauren’s ritual goes something like this: 

At seven (it had been twelve or even one back when she’d been out on her nightly patrols with Kieran) she comes back from work, usually too exhausted to even bother with one of Uncle Tristan’s nightly visits. She will silently creep up the stairs to her room in the manor, lock the doors and the windows, shed her work clothes (sometimes they are blood-stained, but those are the worser days), and get ready for bed. There will be a nightgown laid out by one of the maids within the Sinclair household, freshly pressed and ready to wear, and she will put it on alongside doing her familiar nightly hairdo, which consists of a comb and nothing else - since Lauren just shoves all her hair up into a tight twist without thinking. And then she will take approximately five steps forward to where her revenge board lies behind curtains, unearth it, and ponder over it for about five hours or until she is finally able to sleep.

Most nights, this ritual yields no answers.

Tonight is not most nights.

Tim had given her two pieces of information she’d need to continue forward with her search: firstly, the fact that there had been children in her parents’ car on the way to Allendale - complicit or not in the bombing, she didn’t know - and that he didn’t know where they were. 

Well.

_Yes. No._

_I don’t know._

He’d gotten past her senses. Somehow, when it shouldn’t have been possible. Had he been tricking his breathing patterns to fluctuate so that she wouldn’t spot the actual lies? His voice? 

Lauren’s hand trails down the mountain of papers once more before it comes to a halt on the center picture in the midst of a web of red thread - a familiar photograph of a young boy wearing a stitched-together newspaper cap with white hair peeking out underneath. 

“Maybe if you hadn’t given me those daisies,” she says, laughing quietly, without any mirth at all.

No.

Nothing can prevent the past at this point. If only. 

And what could she have done back then? Told Dylan’s father about the lies she heard? Told _anyone?_ Who wouldn’t have thought she was crazy, much less a complete liar? 

She groans, pinching the bridge of her nose. She’s as hapless as always. And detests it. 

The only chance she has to get out of this dead end is the reception on the 17th. The invitation she’d found on the ticket in Flemming’s pocket. Where the messenger would be meeting the other members of the Scythe, and where she could even hope to glimpse the true face of the Leader. 

And then, somehow, get answers to the only goal she’s been chasing for ten years.

Yes, Kieran was right.

She really is a hypocrite.

What is justice, at this point? Is it safe nights and nightmare-free sleep for the citizens of Ardharlis? It’s not her _main_ goal certainly, as much as she wants to stop the constant crime that plagues the underbelly of this city. For her, it is revenge that makes her chase sleepless nights. For her, it was revenge that made her make a deal with the devil.

A devil that is now her co-worker.

She resists the urge to scream into her pillow as she topples into bed.

Tomorrow, she’ll snatch one of the coffees Lila leaves out for the officers, and try not to murder Kieran alive.

_____

  
  


The usual morning patrol unit has one member missing.

“Is--” Lauren’s halfway through begging Will if Kym is alright; she’d detected something off in her friend since late yesterday - the way she had been looking at Kieran and her didn’t seem quite right. But as soon as he brushes her question off, both relief and a lingering suspicion settle into her bones.

“She’s been taken off duty to help train cadets for a day,” Will says, tipping his mask in greeting. Ardharlis’s winters aren’t harsh by any means, but the cold is particularly biting this time of day. “Again. But I’ve been worried about her too. I don’t want to brush it off as nothing, but she was acting a bit…”

“Odd?” Lauren asks. “So I’m not going insane.”

“Don’t you dare berate yourself, Sinclair,” he teases, knocking her shoulder playfully. But Lauren sees something in those eyes of his flash by for a second and disappear in an instant. “You were gone for a while, too. Midnight rendezvous?”

“More of a midday one,” she says, jaw clenching as she remembers her alleyway encounter. “I took a detour.”

“I see.”

“You’re not surprised?”

“We all have our secrets, don’t we?” There it is again. That familiar twinkle, that grin, twinged with a hint of false bravado.

Lauren frowns.

“I--”

The police station is nearly in sight. But someone in an identical mask and far more elaborate clothing is waiting out front for them - or someone. She spots the familiar shorn head of hair before she fully recognizes who it is, with a sense of awful dread. 

“Do I want to know why Hermann’s waiting for you?”

“This isn’t good,” she mutters under her breath. Lauren spares a glance at him. He doesn’t seem to be particularly upset or emotional, but instead dangerously calm, as if he knows that Lauren will approach and pounce immediately. “What on earth have I done _now?_ ”

“Everything.”

“Probably.” She blows a strand of hair out of her face, adjusting her ponytail. “I’ll catch you later.”

As she’s waving to the rest of her colleagues, Lauren begins inspecting Hermann more closely the closer she gets to him. He _had_ been waiting for her, judging by the look on his face, and strangely enough, doesn’t seem displeased at the sight of her. In his right hand rests a folder of sorts - a folder that on closer inspection is midnight black with gold piping around the edges.

Lauren would recognize the folder anywhere.

“Sinclair,” is all he says upon their meeting. “Walk with me.”

“Do I want to know what this is all about, sir?” she asks, feigning politeness as best as she can. This is the man that could unearth her entire career and livelihood should he choose to do so. She can’t trifle with him under any measures, even if Lune is technically gone for now. 

“I have a proposition for you.”

Well.

This is not going at all how she expected it to go.

“A proposition?”

“Yes, Sinclair. One that I find you’ll be...interested in, to say the least,” he says as they enter the building, waving the file in his hands. “Are you aware of what this document contains?”

“That’s one of Lune’s signature folders we intercepted two weeks ago.”

“Correct. Forensics hasn’t been able to find a thing on them, nor analytics, much less even the best detectives we have here in the 11th. However.”

“However?” Lauren asks, nervously rubbing her thumb against her fingers. Something’s wrong. Someone - somewhere - has suspected something, and told Hermann, perhaps. Harvey wasn’t the only spy, after all. She resists the urge to warn him about the other spies lurking in clear day within the precinct. 

She already knows the name of one, after all. The problem is that it would virtually be impossible to gather proof of what he’s done.

“The folders have stopped coming in. Without warning. My suspicions have led me to believe that Lune’s original operations commenced inside the police force, and somehow got information from there. And then our theories divulged and suspected they were operating as a rogue vigilante out to get the Phantom Scythe. But now they’ve stopped, which leaves us all in a dead end.”

“Unless they have somehow infiltrated our precinct,” Lauren finishes, ignoring the exasperation on Hermann’s face. “Sir. I know I’m only an officer--”

“And that’s our key,” he says, snapping his fingers. “This is my proposal for you, _Sinclair._ Lune is in here, one way or another, and if we find them, we find the Phantom Scythe.”

They stand mere feet apart from each other. Lauren’s heart is practically beating out of her chest.

“Find the traitor, and if you do, you’ll become a detective again.”

_____

It’s rude to eavesdrop. In any situation, really, even important ones.

But Lauren Sinclair has literally been breaking the law and has discarded any semblance of rule-abiding morality in the last twenty-four hours, so she supposes it won’t hurt just this one time. Kym keeps staring at her for some weird reason she can’t pinpoint either, even between her and Will’s typical daily arguments. 

As Lila stacks another sheaf of paperwork on her desk, Lauren peers over her work, eyes poking out from behind a wall of littered folders.

“That new archivist works fast,” one of the officers whispers to her friends. Her hands twitch at the indirect mention of Kieran; she can’t help it. “Did you hear what happened yesterday? Apparently he was able to give Hermann new leads on Lune.”

She was right.

She was right, she really is going to get her pistol and _shoot him--_

“He’s pretty much like a detective at this point,” someone else says. “What kind of background do you think he has? To become an archivist of all things, seriously.”

“Does it matter?” The girl chuckles, a light blush appearing on her cheeks. “He’s a sight for sore eyes, that’s for certain.”

Lauren isn’t going to shoot him just yet, because bile is starting to rise in her throat, and she’s pretty sure she’s ten seconds away from puking into the nearest wastebasket if they don’t stop talking about how hot a literal murderer is. It gets worse, because the girl won’t shut up by any means. Yes, Kieran has blue eyes like the ocean that someone could gaze into for three hours and _oh god she is about to hurl--_

Think of the devil, and he appears.

She can feel Kym’s burning gaze on her as half of the office erupts into murmurs as Kieran enters, this time dressed in all black, a sharp contrast from yesterday’s outfit. She notices how her co-workers react as he plops individual folders on their desks without much word; cool and collected as ever.

Lauren’s temper reaches its breaking point when he reaches her desk. 

“For you, officer,” he says lowly, and places a file in between the stack of papers that she currently owns. She doesn’t dare look up at him as it slides into her vision, but spots what he’s handing her almost immediately.

A file on Joseph Eagerton, one of the Phantom Scythe’s overseers - is what the cover states.

Her hand clenches around it.

_Did he not-_

Before Kieran can even think about leaving, Lauren shoots up from her desk, snatching his wrist.

People other than Kym are staring now. It doesn’t matter.

“Why,” she says slowly, “did you give me this?”

“Thought you might need it,” is all he says, but only she sees the twitch at the corner of his mouth. He’s nervous.

Good.

He should be.

Lauren leans forward, her head nearly level with his, although he is much taller than her. “I do. That isn’t the point.”

“The point being?”

“The point being,” she hisses, “that you deliberately told off Hermann about what we _did_ and have essentially tied both hands behind my back. Before, that wasn’t the case, because you weren’t snooping around in places you shouldn’t have.”

“One rarely makes progress standing still,” Kieran says, leaning forward. “And you know that wasn’t my intention, officer.”

“Care to explain, then?” she says, crossing her arms. “I’d love to hear it.”

“I think we’d all love to hear it, honestly.”

Oh no.

Kym and the others are now at a standstill, watching the two argue like how fascinated visitors would _ooh_ and _aah_ at the sight of two tigers ripping each other to pieces at a zoo. Even Lila has stopped typing. Grumpy Cat isn’t scowling for once - is that interest on his face?

“You two have been acting weird since he got here,” she says, motioning to Kieran. “And don’t deny it, Laur. Do I wanna know, and if I do, do I have to kick anyone’s ass?”

She bites down on a laugh. Oh, thank goodness. It isn’t as bad as she thought it would be.

“You won’t have to,” says Kieran, and her head snaps up. 

“Things will just be a bit awkward between...Lauren and I for the next few days, naturally.”

“Naturally?”

He coughs politely into his fist. “Do you want to tell them, or should I?”

“I don’t--”

“I see.” He turns to face them head on, and what he says next confirms the soon-to-be disposal of his corpse in the nearby dumpsters.

“The truth is that Lauren and I used to date in the past. Extensively. So, you can imagine why things would be awkward between the two of us.”

Her hand flies to the pistol at her belt at the same time the gathered crowd gasps in shock; the other on the back of his collar, tugging him backwards.

_“I’m going to kill you.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> that ph finale killed me and revived me in one day so badly that i just had to write this au.
> 
> anyway. feast. i'm here for y'all :3


	2. curious carnations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Her blood is pounding too loudly in her ears to even hear his shouts. Thankfully, they’re out of range from the precinct, so no one can hear the assassin - now her co-worker, oh god - screaming bloody murder. Somehow, the irony of it all fails to reach her as she slams Kieran’s body into one of the dumpsters in the back alley of the building. She reaches for her pistol, shakes her head, and decides to back away, shuddering with adrenaline. 
> 
> “I think I really am going to kill you,” she mutters.
> 
> “I don’t think you should,” Kieran says, raising his arms.
> 
> ____
> 
> IMPORTANT NOTE: LIES WILL BE IN BOLDED TEXT.

Kieran is shouting.

Lauren does not care.

Her blood is pounding too loudly in her ears to even hear his shouts. Thankfully, they’re out of range from the precinct, so no one can hear the assassin - now her co-worker, oh god - screaming bloody murder. Somehow, the irony of it all fails to reach her as she slams Kieran’s body into one of the dumpsters in the back alley of the building. She reaches for her pistol, shakes her head, and decides to back away, shuddering with adrenaline.

“I think I really am going to kill you,” she mutters.

“I don’t think you should,” Kieran says, raising his arms. “Listen, mon amour, people are going to notice if the new archivist is gone out of nowhere--”

“They won’t care if they know who you really are,” she says, unsheathing a small blade from her belt. “In fact, they’ll thank me. I should’ve killed you that day if I’d known you’d get us both into a mess like this. What the hell were you thinking, Kieran?!”

“I would like you to lower your blade,” he says, eyes darting from the knife in her hand to the rage on her face - which is undeniably palpable. “Please. And then we can talk, and I will explain to you why you should not kill me.”

“You have ten seconds to state your case.”

“That isn’t enough, officer.”

Before Lauren can open her mouth, he’s darted towards her, knocking the knife out of her hands in a second. She punches him squarely in the jaw, feeling bone meeting muscle, and sends him careening back, but for only a second. Even without his weapons, Kieran White is not defenseless; after all, he’s not the Purple Hyacinth for no reason, and is still a formidable enemy in combat. He’s too fast for her to comprehend, and she bites back a yell as he snatches her waist, tugging her against his back, wrists in his hands.

Just like the cave.

“This isn’t how you get someone to _listen_.”

“I can’t have you killing me yet,” he pants, his formerly neat hair slightly askew. A strange pang makes itself known in the crevices of her heart. “You’re wrong in saying it would be for the best. Hermann would particularly notice if I was gone, seeing as I’m his information source on Lune for the moment. And an information source on the Phantom Scythe.”

Lauren frantically attempts to wriggle out of his grip, only managing to get one hand free. She cannot be under his control again, not ever. That would mean danger, and the feeling of his hands on her is making her bite back far louder protests. “Do I want to know how?”

“He’s particularly gullible,” the assassin simpers, shrugging. She wants to slap the smirk off his face, but resists. “Took my story at face value.”

Lauren crosses her arms, blowing a strand of her out of her face in annoyance. “And what does any of this have to do with your life?”

“I’ve heard from him that you’ve been assigned to track them down - unofficially of course.”

_How the hell--_

_He’s not lying,_ she realizes in horror. _He hasn’t lied throughout the whole time we’ve been talking._

“You know as well as I do that they’re meeting tomorrow at the Carmine Carmellia. And I won’t ask why you’ve been put in charge of detective work - although I can gather a conclusion from that myself, darling. I need you as much as you need me--”

“ **I don’t** **_need_ ** **you** ,” she snaps, striding forward and fisting his collar. They’re face to face once more, golden eyes burning into blue ones. “We are not teaming up. Not this time.”

“We don’t have a choice,” Kieran says, and for the first time, sees a weariness in his gaze that she hasn’t seen before. He looks - exhausted, as she is, and - 

No.

There’s no way in hell he actually looks apologetic.

Is this his twisted way of apologizing?!

“I would be your information source _and_ a spy this time. You’d be the one behind the scenes. No harm would come to you this time around. You and I have the same goal, and that hasn’t changed, Lauren. And don’t kill me when I suggest the next part of this plan.”

“I won’t make any promises.”

“Of course you won’t,” he says, chuckling softly. “I expected nothing less of you, Lauren.”

The force of her first name hits her like a truck, and she steps back in shock. The anger in her chest fizzles out, replaced by an uncertain curiosity - and an unfiltered certainty of a feeling she can’t quite pinpoint. The former tautness in her stance relaxes, and she leans against the other side of the brick wall in the alleyway, finally meeting his gaze in something other than anger.

“ _I’m_ suggesting the next part of this plan,” she says, and what surprises her next is that Kieran silently nods, agreeing to it all. 

“We’re still not comfortable around each other,” she says, shifting uncomfortably. “And even though they’ll understand us being awkward for the next couple of weeks, I still don’t think of you as an ally.” 

_I don’t know if I ever can again,_ she thinks, but does not say aloud. “And I’d be a fool to think that no one within the office is at least slightly suspicious of our reactions to each other.”

“Naturally.”

The humor is back in his voice - albeit only slightly. She sighs, watching as strands of her hair tumble down the right side of her face, turning a bright auburn in the morning light. “It would be impossible for us to avoid each other. **And for me not to kill you.** ” Lauren tips her head further downwards, refusing to let him see the light flush coating her cheeks.

“The only thing that could work,” she says slowly, “is a reconciliation.”

“You want us to pretend we’re dating again.”

“You were the one who started it,” she hisses. “But yes. Essentially...that is the plan. I don’t want any of my coworkers to figure out our previous bargain, and especially not my friends or family. Even if Lune is done for good, our terms still apply.”

His mouth twitches upwards. **“Fine with me.”**

“Don’t pretend--”

“ **It’ll be fine,** officer. Until the Scythe fakes my death or whatnot, we only have to pretend for a while. How’s this - only until the Scythe’s meeting on the 17th?”

“Two weeks?” she asks in exasperation. “You want us to date for only _two weeks-_ ”

“We’ll have everything in place by then,” he guarantees. Kieran holds out his hand, and Lauren realizes she hasn’t been imagining the timidity in his stance - it is real, even if half of what he says isn’t. He’s afraid of her.

She doesn’t know whether or not to feel pleased about it. 

“Truce?”

Lauren doesn’t hesitate to shake his hand this time.

“Two weeks.”

“Two weeks.” He tries for a grin. It doesn’t hold. “And then it will all be over, and we’ll be back to how we were.”

____

The agreement was a simple one. One not bound in blood, one prone to outside influences; viewed by the outside world, even. Lauren had meant for her workers to all see a simple lie - and only that - which took shape in the form of two lovers, one of which was Kieran White.

Kieran, however, doesn’t make things _simple._

Everyone is buzzing around the office when she enters, and abruptly goes silent when she enters. Lauren is about to ask what the hell happened overnight when she’s tackled by a blur in all white silk named Lila Desroses, carting a pound of flowers in her hands - freshly plucked, she realizes.

“Congratulations on your engagement,” Kym says from Will’s desk, trying not to laugh out loud. “When’s the wedding date?”

“Could you not, _Ladell--_ ”

“We’re only dating!” Lauren protests, but is stopped by Lila shoving the bouquet of pink carnations in her face. They smell like dew and honey and - well, carnations - but someone has perfumed the paper cone they come in, and has also tied a matching ribbon neatly around the ends. 

Well, he certainly doesn’t lack in romantic gestures.

“He’s so sweet, isn’t he?” Lila says, practically bouncing up and down in her heels, bob swaying back and forth. “Left these for you. There are other flowers around the office, too, but you have to find them. He left clues. I think it’s his way of apologizing, Lauren!”

“So you did hear,” she said, a vein in her forehead twitching as she opens the card within the ribbon wrapped around the flowers - a card she hadn’t noticed until now.

_THE ARCHIVES._

_-K._

Why must he always want to make her kill him?

  
  


____

  
  


“Feeling frisky, aren’t we?”

He turns to see her standing there, three perfectly-pruned pink carnations in the palm of her fist, leaves gleaming in the morning light. A symmetrical petal falls onto the ground, wet with dew. “Purple hyacinths out of fashion now?”

“I took great liberties to acquire those, Sinclair.” His mouth twitches upwards. “Please do not throw those in the trash like you did with the tulips.”

Lauren promptly flings them into the nearby waste bin. “You’re killing innocent plants for no reason.”

“Please, Sinclair,” he scoffs, feeling her walk up beside him. “I took these from a local florist. They were very happy with the amount I ordered. If you’re not going to keep those, at least give them to Lila or someone else. She looked ecstatic to give such pretty gifts to you.”

“Cozying up to my coworkers already?” she bites out, voice laced with poison. “How expected of you.” Her hands hover over the files he’s currently looking into, and Kieran inspects her as she inspects some of them herself, flipping through the papers rapidly. Her golden eyes dart back and forth, a clouded amber in the evening light emanating from the windows. Her hair is swept up in her usual bun, not a strand out of place. There is no sign of the feral, rabid woman who had threatened him a mere day ago, or the woman who had been prey to his actions in the cave.

The damned cave where he had--

For the first time in his life, Kieran nearly trips on a stack of archived cases.

“Everything alright?” He realizes she’s been watching him, too, all this time.

“Why wouldn’t it be?” The scent of carnations grows stronger as he leans over slightly to see her pouring over three distinct files, spread out before her like a fan. They’re all on past arrests the APD has done on the Phantom Scythe, and Kieran taps the middle file with his finger. 

“I see you’ve chosen to look into Eagerton.”

“He has connections with Belladonna.”

Kieran shoots up in surprise, but she does nothing but shake her head in response. “They mentioned a connection with a financial handler. That handler most likely being her.”

“She’ll most likely be at the Carmellia tonight,” he says, and frowns as her mouth twitches downwards, her face darkening ever-so-slightly. “I’ll be the one discussing future plans with the Scythe. You don’t have to worry about disguising yourself as a maid this time.”

“Good to hear,” she says blithely, closing the file. “Recording equipment’s only allowed for detectives, but given what tasks Hermann has given both of us, I highly doubt I’ll be unable to get my hands on it. I’ve heard arrangements being made already to scour the place, but I want us both out of there before the police force arrives.”

“We should leave an hour early, then. Which will be difficult, but not impossible.”

“You’re a good liar.” He winces as she snaps the rest of the files shut, practically shoving them into the metal cabinet where they belong. She throws a mirthless smile his way. “So I’m sure you won’t have any trouble.”

“Sinclair--”

For the second time that week, she leaves him alone in a room steeped in the past, his present nowhere to be seen.

____

  
  


The Carmine Carmellia does not hide from Ardharlis society.

It is a building that shouts _LOOK AT ME I AM INCREDIBLY HUGE AND DRIPPING IN WEALTH._

True to its name, golden camellias are emblazoned on the outside of the monolith, practically a palace towering over the city at this point. It’s carved out of terra-cotta brick and white marble, fusing to create an illusion of an elegant gargantuan building popping out of the ground, blending in seamlessly with nature. The only thing that does not blend in with nature is the giant neon sign outside the Carmellia, lightbulbs blinking on and off as the opera house flashes its name in large, red cursive letters. 

Tonight, Lauren will not blend in with the numerous patrons attending the show at midnight. She will not become one of the elegant ladies clad in their finest jewels and gowns perched on the arms of many-tuxedoed men. Instead, she will wait for the crowd to grow large enough so that she can slip in through the backdoors of the theater unnoticed, clad in all black and carting a large duffel bag over her shoulders.

Tonight, her destination is the rafters above the secret bar in the basement of the Carmellia.

Where the Phantom Scythe will be meeting, and where Kieran will be awaiting her, in the middle of several people that could easily end her life within a second - much less the entire city’s. She doesn’t dare play the risky game of potentially getting caught by the bar’s security guards outside the basement floor, so chooses to take an alternate path through the vents instead.

Which smells, but works effectively enough. Ten seconds have her pulling off one of the vents on top of the ceiling, and landing on all fours like a limber cat on the wooden rafters above the bar. Laughs and the clinking of glasses fill the air, and the dimly lit space is draped in rich reds and golds, with velvet curtains draped over the side of the bar. Approximately twenty people are gathered here, and her eyes instantly pick out Kieran - dressed in his usual finery, hair mussed up again as usual. 

Next to Belladonna.

Bile rises in her throat.

It would be so easy, so incredibly _easy_ to alert the force to come barging in right now, but patience is a virtue.

One Lauren’s detested for a while now, at least. She wonders what’s changed so deeply about her. 

She shakes her head, pulling out her recording equipment. Lauren pulls a set of headphones over her ears, twiddling with the knobs on the black and brown box she’d carried in her bag. Static fills her ears at first, but as she adjusts the black dials on the side of the box, voices begin to carry over to her - slowly. 

_“Have you...yet?”_

Belladonna. Lauren reads her rouged-over lips move in tandem with the audio she hears.

She turns the dial up higher. 

_“I haven’t gotten the…. **pleasure** ,” _ Kieran says, _“but I’m sure I’ll meet him soon.”_

_“Ah, well, you will soon. But be careful. The APS is sending their hounds after us now.”_

She has to be talking about Sake, and as for the hound...Lauren scowls, rubbing at her head unconsciously. Two masked figures approach both of them, and no matter how far she stretches her neck, cannot seem to gather any information about the two - men? Women? She can’t tell by their robes.

And then it strikes her - _Apostles._

_“Eight. Ten,”_ Kieran says by way of greeting. **_“I’m sure you found the Leader’s speech earlier riveting as ever.”_ **

The Leader.

He’s here.

Lauren recoils in shock from the sudden pain in her mouth, and realizes she’s drawn a small amount of blood from biting down on her lip. The dial is turned up higher, and Kieran’s voice is nearly as loud as his real one, settling into her bones with a heavy weight that is oddly reassuring in the middle of her panic. 

_“If you put it that way.”_

_“As stoic as ever,”_ he says, sighing. _“Shouldn’t you be glad preparations for the 17th are already underway? And rest assured that everything will go to plan. I’m posing as one of them now, after all. They won’t see a thing.”_

_They won’t see a thing._

Lauren taps her headphones, mentally playing back Kieran’s words as the conversation delves into talk about specifics. They - meaning the police. And the 17th...the circus ticket. And Hermann had mentioned that there would be an annual ball on the same day.

The pieces are all there, and all it would take would be a bit of trifling to sort them out. An expected rush of adrenaline goes through Lauren’s veins - she hasn’t felt like this since she was a detective. 

Perhaps it may be time to put up another board beside the one that’s been gathering dust for ten years.

_____

  
  


Two hours pass - one for the police force to break into the Carmellia and find nothing, of course, and one for Lauren and Kieran to butt heads and share the information they’ve gathered. And since two heads are better than one, after all, they agree to put together a semblance of a plan to deal with the 17th and Lune simultaneously. 

Not in the cave, of course.

They agree on that without hesitation.

So Lauren practically cleans a spare space in one of the closets abandoned within the archives room, and Kieran gathers red tape.

It takes them three hours for them to put together something resembling a solution. 

It takes them three hours and ten minutes for things to start becoming increasingly awkward.

“Do,” Kieran says slowly, twirling a pen in his hands casually, but the look in his eyes anything but, “I want to know how you crossed paths with Sake, officer? He’s been gone for a year.”

“We had an encounter in an alleyway,” she says, leaning back in her chair. Lauren’s tossed her coat aside, and rests in her pants and shirt only, tie askew and hanging over her shoulders. “He slipped away because Belladonna appeared and managed to knock me out.”

She hears him move, and cracks open one eye to see him standing in the shadows, blue eyes alight with - fury, even. The office is dead at this time of night, and darkness fills the archives where they rest. He is swathed in black and white, like an imitation of a chiaroscuro painting. It is a longing that fills her chest afterwards - but not longing  _ for _ him, instead, a longing to get away from him.

“She had her duty,” Lauren says, words clipped. “And I was doing mine.”

“So that’s what she meant when she was referring to the hounds,” Kieran says exasperatedly, taking off his glasses, running a hand through his hand. “Goodness, officer. The situations you get yourself into.”

“The situations I get myself into,” Lauren says slowly. “What exactly do you mean by that, subordinate?”

He reels back as if he’s been shot.

“You--”

Lauren’s anger bubbles to the surface; but not in the form of a slap or a threat. A growl rattles in her throat, and with two steps forward, she’s gripping onto the side of the wall, cornering him. Making him back away in fear, like he did to her so long ago. Something in her heart laughs darkly at the irony of it all, wraps her chest in wrath, red seeping in at the edges of her eyes. 

Power lances through her like a blade, filling her throat and tongue with a metallic taste as she bends down to meet Kieran’s gaze with her own, burning into his eyes. His eyes widen faintly, and the fire in her chest roars to life as she gently takes hold of his neck, skimming over his Adam’s apple with the tip of her finger - and turns into a bonfire as soon as her hand darts to grasp his throat. 

Not enough to choke. 

Enough to break.

_ This is what you wanted, this is what you wanted to do all along to him, make him feel the hurt you felt-- _

“Sake came back from directing negotiations and explosives,” she says, and the voice that escapes her lips is not hers, “after disappearing for a year. Because of what he took from me. And I chased him down, and he escaped again. Because of your associate. Who killed one of the police force’s kindest souls - or so he seemed. Who led me to interrogate Anslow - or would’ve, if you hadn’t gotten there first.”

_ “You,”  _ she hisses, “for one reason or another, are the reason I have gone on like this. And now you want to tell me I get myself into these situations for - no reason at  _ all, it seems _ \--”

“Lauren--”

“Are you going to beg for mercy?” she practically screams, her hand shaking with fury. That day flashes like a beacon in her mind, and with it, her rage only grows. “Are you, Kieran? Or are you going to go on about how taking life is nothing to you?”

The fear in his eyes is palpable as day as she leans in closer, whispering in his ear.

_ Dylan, Harvey, Anslow, Flemmings-- _

“The monster may not have a heart,” she says, chuckling mirthlessly, “but I want to know if he can fear.”

“I’m sorry.”

_ Not a lie. _

Lauren steps back as quickly as she advanced, eyes wide with shock.

Kieran doesn’t move, but looks up with her with an exhaustion in his eyes, seemingly helpless in the way his limbs lay slack on the floor. In one swift motion, he goes to his knees, head bowed to her.

“I’m sorry, Lauren.”

_ Not a lie,  _ her inner voice says again.

“Sorry isn’t enough.” 

Her voice comes out monotone, and she ignores Kieran’s calls as she practically runs out of the archives, banging the door behind her as she wipes away her tears, a retreating figure cloaked in an impending darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry.
> 
> (Please take notes on this chapter as to what NOT to do in a relationship.)


	3. opulent orchids

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The orchid is white. Blindingly so, even, and looks as if it has been preserved in wax - to the point where it no longer looks like a real, poignant flower, but rather the caricature of one.
> 
> “We need to talk.”
> 
> The voice comes from behind, and Lauren whirls around to see a pair of blue eyes boring into her own. 
> 
> “I’m not throwing this one away,” she says, and her lips twitch upward uneasily. “It’d be a shame to waste such a flower.”
> 
> “Glad to know we’re on the same page for once.”

Will doesn’t have to look over his shoulder to see who’s behind him.

Blue hair brushes against his own as Kym leans over him, golden eyes squinting into the dim light of the office. Some people are typing on their typewriters. Others are conversing among themselves, discussing new or old cases. Lila is welcoming in several of the morning patrol, while Lukas pours coffee for himself and a mysterious other second person.

He knows what she’s thinking, too.

“See anything?”

“This barely qualifies as a stakeout,” he intones, groaning into the lower half of his hand. It partially isn’t because of her presence - early mornings have never been his thing.

“It isn’t a stakeout!” she protests, shaking his shoulders. “Look. We’re just observing, and if we don’t see anyone acting suspicious--”

“--we can officially report to Hermann that there is, in fact, not a mole in the department,” Will says. The temperature around them seems to drop five degrees at the mere mention of spying on their colleagues.

“You find anything last night?”

In any other context, the sight of the blonde whispering into Kym’s ear would’ve been perceived by many as a man whispering fondly into his lover’s ear, making her giggle, even. But it is all a cover-up, and Will knows that much.

The office knows they’ve gotten closer.

They don’t know why, and they’re not going to find out why.

“Looking through twenty or so files of paperwork strained my eyes,” she drawls, “but nope. Whoever is doing work for Lune - if they are - covers up their tracks somewhere else.”

“Then let’s start somewhere else,” Will says, pulling away from her. “I’d hate for us to make so little progress that midnight rendezvouses become a common occasion.”

“Oh, you’d _love_ a midnight rendezvous, wouldn’t you?” Kym teases, poking his cheek.

“Will you - stop that!” Will hisses, batting at Kym’s retreating figure as she backs away, cackling.

And nearly runs into the door slamming open, with a disgruntled Lauren Sinclair behind it.

____

She looks like hell, and she’s keenly aware of that fact.

Lauren has danced with death too many times by now, and has wondered why it has not tired of her yet, even though it has swept her up in its arms too many times to count by now. She must be a better dancer than she thought. Dark circles hover under her eyes yet again, but now a light discoloration rests under them, and her skin is flushed red from her former breakdown late last night.

The only thing holding her together is the coffee Lukas practically shoves into her hand.

“You need it,” is all he says, and slowly walks away as she downs the entire cup of sludge, throat burning. Kym stares at her with fascination, like she’s just encountered an alien from another planet that has crashed landed in this office and has come out of its spaceship, wiggling eight tentacles and a wig of auburn hair.

“I’d say ‘who are you and what have you done with Lauren,’” she says, smiling slightly, “but I know you by now.”

“Thanks for the encouragement,” she says, barely managing a semblance of a smile. “I know I look like crap.”

“The epitome of it, actually. Bad morning, I guess.” She sighs, clapping her on the back as Kym practically drags her over to her desk, where a paper bag rests. “You should probably eat first before I’m about to tell you what we’re going to do today.”

**“I already--”** Lauren’s stomach gurgles, betraying her.

“Liar.”

“Shut up,” she sighs, letting out a groan when Kym forces her into her seat, unveiling a stack of blueberry scones, steaming as they fall out of their neat lines. She’s barely reached for one when the office door creaks open again, to reveal two other officers clocking in and --

_Him._

Before Lauren can sit up, Kym forces her down by the shoulders, shoving berry and scone into her mouth, nearly choking as crumbs fall down her perfectly pressed shirt. 

“Sit, you heathen.”

“I--”

“No talking to your boyfriend,” she says, clucking her tongue as she waves another scone in the air like a mother does to their child. Lauren nearly bites her finger off as the scone enters her mouth. “Ex-boyfriend who you’ve been with for two days. Is he nice as he looks?”

“Not always,” she mumbles. “Unfortunately.” She snaps a scone in half, avoiding Kym’s gaze. “We...had a bit of a fight last night.”

“Doesn’t surprise me. It’s confusing though.”

“What is?” she says, or at least attempts to say around a mouthful of blueberry.

“How you two look at each other. Sometimes it’s as if you two have known each other forever, and then at other times, you want to rip each others’ heads off.”

Lauren swallows harshly, fingers tapping the inside of her pants nervously. But her friend is partly right. Kieran and her were in a relationship no one could call normal - much less healthy. They still are.

And yet.

“I thought I knew him once,” she admits, presenting the empty bag as evidence of her proper nourishment to Kym. “I’m....just getting accustomed to how he actually is.”

Kym’s mouth twitches as if to say something, but abruptly stops. “I see. Well, a deal is a deal,” she says, snatching away the bag. “We’re having a flower decorating competition for the office!”

Lauren promptly snorts out her coffee.

____

The orchid is white. Blindingly so, even, and looks as if it has been preserved in wax - to the point where it no longer looks like a real, poignant flower but rather the caricature of one.

“We need to talk.”

The voice comes from behind, and Lauren whirls around to see a pair of blue eyes boring into her own. 

“I’m not throwing this one away,” she says, and her lips twitch upward uneasily. “It’d be a shame to waste such a flower.”

“Glad to know we’re on the same page for once.” 

She’d retreated to the archives for quiet, seeing as Kieran was helping out with several of the office decorate their desks with flower arrangements to herald in the upcoming spring, even though there were only two weeks of winter left. New information had come in, and she’d wanted to check in with the board - only to find a single white orchid in front of the archives.

Now the door was closed, and now Kieran was here, having purposely waited for her to leave.

“You knew I was going to come here,” she says quietly. “Doesn’t that count as stalking? I don’t think you want to add that onto your list of horrible qualities alongside being an arrogant murderer.”

“Well, I wanted to talk to you one way or another. And you wouldn’t listen to me if I asked, officer.”

“Depends if you have something worth listening to.”

“The Leader wants me to kill Lune.”

Lauren freezes in her tracks.

“And I owe you an actual apology, as well as an explanation for what happened back...then. Is that worth listening to?”

Slowly, she turns around, her hair falling out of its bun slightly.

“I suppose you’re not as arrogant as I thought.”

Kieran tries for a smile, but fails. His eyes are clouded-over with an emotion she suspects is guilt - or perhaps not; because the assassin is anything but sorry on his good days.

She gestures to the door. “I guess we have a lot to talk about, don’t we?”

“We do.”

____

There are several tunnels in Ardharlis, and most of them can be found in the more shady areas of the city - except the police precincts, because patrol units always need a quick escape nearby. So it isn’t difficult for Lauren to search out a darkened closure for both of them to talk, coat rustling in the wind. Blue light frames both of their faces, bringing out the color of Kieran’s eyes and a rising flush to her skin.

“So,” she says when they’ve both come to a standstill, breath coming out in clouds in the misty air, “do I want to know how we’re supposed to kill ourselves?”

“I should’ve told you sooner, but given the situation at the time--” He shakes his head. “It would be easy to declare Lune as gone on paper, but the Phantom Scythe is much more thorough than that. Knowing your office, there are probably still operating spies overseeing what Lune’s been up to.”

“Evidently,” she says, leaning against the brick walls of the tunnel. It’s incredibly damp in here, and she can hear the faint dripping of water somewhere. “Well. The easiest solution would be to pin it on two or more of the people you’ve been assigned to kill.”

Kieran blinks rapidly in surprise. “I didn’t quite expect this level of bluntless from you of all people.”

“People change. Get used to it.”

“I’m aware,” he says, and for the first time since he’s appeared like a wraith in her territory, that oh-so familiar smirk she’s grown used to seeing appears on his face, sharp and striking altogether. The small part of Lauren that missed him raises its arms once more, and she mentally kicks it backwards.

“Lune’s an enemy on both sides, it seems,” she breathes. “Well, if we do end up ‘killing’ it, I suppose we’ll have made content both our higher-ups.”

“If only.” Kieran crosses his arms, looking down awkwardly.

They both know what comes next.

And Lauren doesn’t dare move a muscle; she can hardly hear her own breath by now.

Ardhalis often has had parades in the past; one of them featuring the infamous Prospero Troupe, reenacting The Masque of the Red Death to the crowd’s delight, costumes shining in the heated summer air like gold coins and silver bells. Her parents had taken her as a child, and she remembered staring up in awe at the main antagonist - Red Death, a handsome man clad in a feathered hat and military uniform dyed crimson, decorated with epaulets and a glimmering sword at his side.

If the Purple Hyacinth edges on the fringes of being human, then he lingers on the precipice of becoming a monster: of becoming Lord Death, who wears blood like a medallion and shows no mercy in those eyes of his - cold oceans that hold nothing behind them.

The Purple Hyacinth is a man made myth, man made death.

Death does not apologize.

Kieran White is about to apologize at her feet, head bowed like a starlit prince in a painting. In the light he is nothing more than a boy who looks as if he’s done something completely embarrassing.

Her hands are trembling, she realizes.

This is the one thing she has not expected thus far.

“You didn’t deserve that,” he chokes out. 

Well, it’s a start.

“I didn’t.”

“I never - I never should’ve--”

His hands are shaking as well.

“Kieran.”

He looks up at the sound of her voice.

“I don’t think you’re a monster.”

Lauren slowly watches something minute in his eyes - the small something that has been holding him together all this time - come apart.

“You may not, but everyone else does, and they’re _correct,_ ” he spits out. “And what I did to you that night proves it. You didn’t deserve that night. You didn’t deserve any of it, because yes, you may have gone after me because I killed Anslow. You may have understood I was going through with orders, and yet you still knew deep down that I went too far. You _understood._ And--”

“I defied you?” she says, chin tilted upwards. “It’s about high time someone has.”

But beyond her aloof facade, Lauren’s thoughts are running wild.

_You will be the death of me,_ Kieran’s expression seems to be crying.

“I was the monster that night,” he says. “And you and I both know it.”

Silence.

“It was pleasant having someone around who didn’t always believe that.” 

Is what he next says, and Lauren can feel her heart drop to the floor at the look he gives her, frustrated and angry and pitiful all at once. Pitiful. _Pitiful._ Like someone who has been broken all his life.

He meets her gaze, and she swallows harshly, still not making a sound.

“I understand if you don’t want to go forward with our partnership. It’s only fair after what I put you through. But know at least this,” he says, raising his palms. “Know that I need you, Lauren Sinclair.”

_Know that I need you, Lauren Sinclair._

She clears her throat harshly, wincing at the way the noise echoes throughout the tunnel. If her conscience was a person, it would probably be banging a hammer over her head, chanting _IDIOT IDIOT IDIOT SAY SOMETHING, YOU IDIOT._

“I lost someone dear to me.”

Her conscience screams, somewhere, probably, and books the next train for the nearest seaside town.

“Long ago,” she clarifies, and suddenly finds it very, very difficult to meet his gaze. “He was a friend of mine. A friend I loved dearly, and perished in the Allendale incident. And the Phantom Scythe wasn’t just responsible for his death, but...several others.”

“That’s why--”

“Anslow was mine to interrogate,” she grits out, anger lingering at the edges of her heart, “but I understand why you did what you did.” Lauren pinches the bridge of her nose, glancing up at him.

“I suppose that makes us two hypocrites in a pod.”

A faint smile traces over the edges of his mouth. “I suppose it does, officer.”

She laughs. Actually _laughs,_ for the first time in months, and clutches her stomach with the force of it, wiping away tears.

“Do you have a pot?”

“Hmm?”

“I think I’ll keep the orchid around, subordinate,” she drawls, cocking an eyebrow up. “Or did you go deaf from apologizing for once?”

“I heard you just fine,” he grumbles, but as they fall into a matching pace, walking next to each other in a familiar rhythm, Lauren knows that nothing and everything has changed between them, as they settle into their tried and true dance of witty insults and retorts all the way back to the office. 

Yes. 

Perhaps she really has missed him, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Satisfying catharsis apologies? Bonding? In MY Purple Hyacinth? 
> 
> It's more likely than you think.


	4. frivolous forget-me-nots

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s beautiful, all of it, and there’s no denying the comfort the waves bring as they storm up to the port even on a calm night like this. The sliver of space bordering in-between winter and spring brings a chill around the two of them walking up to the dock, hand in hand, although she doesn’t register it initially. It’s odd, really - like a scratch Lauren can’t quite rid - the feeling of the assassin’s hand in hers. They have touched before, but that was to heal, to grab, in hurried moments and in moments where life over death was necessary. Needing each other, but never truly closing the gap between them.
> 
> Even now, she still does not know where they stand on either side of the abyss.
> 
> “You’re slipping away, love,” Kieran rumbles softly, lips against her ear. “The boat’s here.”

Lauren is not a morning person.

Kieran is, and she hates him for it.

At least he’s brought coffee, though, and not the sludge that usually comes from the office pot - made worse by the copious amount of sugar Randall adds into the cups he gives out. Proper brew, and she’s content to sip on it while they continue to modify the board in the archive closets, now strewn with more red tape she’s seen herself ever use. Perhaps Kieran isn’t as much of a neat freak as she held him out to be.

“The port is particularly active on Sundays - today,” he says, coat littered off to the side somewhere. His hair is in its typical ponytail, but the usual ribbon around it is missing. “Sake works in explosives, like you said, and probably won’t show his face down at the shipments coming in today, unfortunately, but the Apostles will.”

“In broad daylight?” she asks quizzically, sitting straight up in her chair. “What’s been going on?”

“You won’t recognize them, but yes, they will be,” he says grimly. “Ever since I killed our convicts, the Scythe has been furious, and now want to directly oversee all overseas operations, which include transports of far deadlier things than weapons, although those are involved.”

“I have a bad feeling that you’re about to tell me Sake’s only the lesser half of a worse scenario going on.”

“Right again, officer.” He snaps his fingers at her, smiling mirthlessly. “Scythe’s always been hellbent on a revolution, and they’re not above directly sabotaging anything and anyone to get there. Including us. Because--”

“They want us dead.” Lauren leans back, brushing her hair out of her face. “Do the recent shipments have anything to do with that?”

“Highly likely. But they’re not obsessed with us just yet. The entire city’s still their main focus. We’re just a pawn on the chessboard.”

“Then we have to get to the bottom of what those shipments are,” she says, getting up from her chair and walking up to the board, slowly inspecting the red threads of yarn hanging above the board. An inkling of an idea hits her like a bullet through her brain, and a slow smile spreads over her face. 

“They wouldn’t dare unload their actual shipments now, would they?”

Kieran’s mouth parts slightly, as if he realizes what she’s implying. “Stakeout.”

Lauren sighs, linking her fingers through the loops on her belt. “Or a date. Aren’t water taxi tours common at night?”

“Who’s the scandalous one now?”

“Very funny,” she drawls, “but yes, I’m suggesting we charade as citizens. If we can close enough to the boats--”

“--we could inspect the freight ships.” He lowers his head in a mockery of a bow, holding out his hand. “Well, Ms. Sinclair? Ready to show the world what we are?”

“Maybe,” she says slowly, taking it.

____

  
  


Ardhalis has rivers like veins of glimmering blue and silver running through the city alongside the river that darts through the central capital, a sheen of light at the right time of day or night at times. All flow out to the nearby sea, towards a gathering of boats in honeyed yellow and eggshell white, or the iron rust of shipment boats and freight carriers that perch like birds atop concrete.

It’s beautiful, all of it, and there’s no denying the comfort the waves bring as they storm up to the port even on a calm night like this. The sliver of space bordering in-between winter and spring brings a chill around the two of them walking up to the dock, hand in hand, although she doesn’t register it initially. It’s odd, really - like a scratch Lauren can’t quite rid - the feeling of the assassin’s hand in hers. They have touched before, but that was to heal, to grab, in hurried moments and in moments where life over death was necessary. Needing each other, but never truly closing the gap between them.

Even now, she still does not know where they stand on either side of the abyss.

“You’re slipping away, love,” Kieran rumbles softly, lips against her ear. “The boat’s here.”

Lauren jolts in shock, screeching to a halt. They stand somewhere in the middle of the miniature line waiting for the taxi to dock next to the port. She’s dressed up for tonight, in a red trench and her hair swept up in a bun, but below her supposedly harmless outfit, two pistols rest at her belt, and a knife in her boots. She knows Kieran carries daggers in lieu of his sword - waiting for them near the freight ships, at the place they’ve agreed to meet after docking at one of the stops the taxi goes to.

“I was inspecting the port,” she hisses under her breath. “Still taking me for a simpleton, White?”

“Just checking,” he says, and what he does next makes her want to careen back and slap his face. Before she can even speak another word, he plants a light kiss on her cheek as another couple passes by, the touch feather-light.

“Are you _insane--_ ”

“We’re dating, aren’t we?”

“That doesn’t include kissing,” she growls, face almost comically red at this point. “Don’t make me reconsider your apology.”

She doesn’t expect him to freeze up so quickly. As if beyond the thousand thoughts that race through his head, there is one that shouts _not yet, not here--_

_I need you._

“You need me, I get it,” she murmurs under her breath as the bells ring. “Let’s go.”

“So you did get the memo.”

“Is that sarcasm I hear?” she asks, pulling him forward as they hand their tickets over to the tour guide. The engine purrs beneath the boat, rocking it back and forth on the waves. “Goodness gracious, so Kieran White has returned at last.”

“You missed him, didn’t you?”

“And I showed you just how much I did, _sweetie,_ ” she grits out, grinning at him with all her teeth as the boat starts up, the guide in front of them starting to belt introductions out of a microphone. “Remember the alleyway?”

“Ah. How could I forget?” His voice lowers. _“Your love language: death threats.”_

“Bullets aren’t romantic?” she simpers.

“Well, you see, there’s a thing called a ‘date’ and it usually doesn’t involve death--”

A loud honking interrupts his speech mid-sentence, and both of them swivel to see a large black boat passing through the waters, towering above the water taxi like a dark behemoth. It’s clearly a freight ship, carrying numerous metal containers above its back.

A reminder: this is what they’re here for.

“You made preparations, didn’t you?” she says, tugging on his coat sleeve.

He nods. “We should be there on time.”

The tour ends in about an hour, which gives them ample time to scan the docks for more freight ships. Lauren knows they’re looking for the _Ameles_ alongside several of its other companion ships; Kieran had done digging through the archives and found precedent cases in which those ships were known to have connections with weapons manufacturers overseas, but nothing was ever able to come to light by way of the investigations done in the past.

Or at least, lawful investigations. Their plan to break and enter a ship without a warrant is the least amount of rule-breaking Lauren’s done in a while, but it’s still a checkmark on the list.

“Guess you can’t call me a good cop after all of this, huh?” she mutters under her breath.

Kieran laughs at that. “I haven’t in a while, have I?” 

“Fair enough.” She leans against the wooden railing, hair whipping in the wind like a beacon as they pass a row of glittering palace theaters.

_And to your right you’ll see the Princess’s Theatre,_ the tour guide announces. _Opened in XX18, it was originally named the Queen’s Bazaar and housed a diorama, known for its promenade concerts. Now it is known for its lavish melodramas--_

In any other scenario, this entire situation would’ve been incredibly romantic.

“If Sake is here,” Kieran says slowly, “know that I’m prepared to take precautions as well.”

“All and any scenarios,” she says, closing her eyes briefly, feeling the wind sweep around them as the boat begins to move again. “Don’t let him kill me.” It’s a joke, an off-hand comment that means nothing between the two of them, or should, but it doesn’t anymore because nothing is the same between them, she can _feel it_ from the way he looks at her like--

Why is he looking at her like that?

_Well, if you’d died, I’d be back to square one, wouldn’t I? I need our partnership for my little vendetta as much as you do for yours._

She swallows. Of course she knows why.

“Ah, almost forgot,” he says, snapping them both out of their reverie. Kieran pulls out a small notebook, bound in leather, and when he flips open the book for her to see, a small flower resides in the tiny pages, pressed and preserved to perfection. A forget-me-not, a light sapphire color with golden bulbs inside. 

“This one won’t die.” He holds it up for her to inspect, and she accepts. “Promise.”

She twirls it in her hands, the stem brittle but firm at the same time.

“You’re improving,” is all she says after a beat of ten, not trusting herself to say anything else.

“What’s that? Couldn’t hear you. A little louder, please?”

“Don’t make me shoot you.”

_And to your left you will see the Wellington Monument, dedicated to Duke Wellington in his victory in the Peninsular Wars--_

____

The boat passes through at least ten more stops in Ardhalis, with refreshments being passed out halfway through the tour. Kieran and Lauren choose to perch on the bow of the boat, watching the city skyline drift pass them with ciders in their hands. Soon, the port comes back into view, but not the section they were originally at - where, in fact, the  _ Ameles  _ and several other boats perch. 

It is also one of the spots where tourists get off to take pictures of the city, and so the two get off the boat ever-so casually as if they aren’t about to break and enter into a major section of the port.

Lauren watches as they strip off their civilian clothing to reveal their black undergear, masks on and cloaking the lower half of their faces. Their Lune outfits, but more practical. Well, as practical as you can get with Kieran’s sword dangling from his side. She cocks an eye at the thing, practically a signal across the city that screams ‘catch me if you can!’

“You couldn’t make do with daggers?” she sighs, slipping on gloves. “Even Belladonna’s weapons, flashy as they are, aren’t bulky like yours.”

“It’s special,” he says, grinning as he pats the weapon at his side. “No way in hell you’re getting rid of this, officer.”

She resists the urge to roll her eyes; they’re going to pop out of their sockets at this rate.

The  _ Ameles  _ is a monolith of a ship, and guards rest at the entrance to it. Lauren watches from behind an empty metal container as Kieran moves like a wraith amongst the shadows, darting from the ground to the bowdocks in a second, knocking out both men at the ship doors. Another raises his gun, but the assassin renders him unconscious in a second.

“Five minutes before the alarm is raised,” he calls out, and she moves.

Her gun rests in her hands, firing at the incoming sailors that greet them - enough to disable them, not permanently. Inside, it’s filled with metal machines and engines, gears churning energy at kilometers per second. Steam fills the lower levels, and she raises a hand against the fog.

“Storage containers are all the way down the hall,” she shouts over the grinding of pipes. “Four minutes.”

“Come here,” he says suddenly, and his hand clamps around her wrist as she’s pulled forward. 

_ Thunk. Thunk. _

Three minutes and forty-five seconds.

Another sailor comes out this time, teeth bared and clearly desperate with knives in either hand. Lauren is startled as he rushes towards her; she cocks her pistol and aims, but it doesn’t deter him. Her fist meets bone, and she tackles him against the wall, feeling her muscles burn with the force of it. She careens back as he strikes her, blood pooling in the left side of her mouth. She struggles to get up off the floor - there are only three minutes and twenty-one seconds left now - but she doesn’t have to, as Kieran renders him unconscious with two quick bullets across his chest.

“Here,” he says, tossing the gun to her.

“So you do know how to fire,” she grumbles as she kicks the door to the storage room open.

Two minutes and fifty seconds.

“They’re all valuables!” 

“Nothing here, either.”

Two minutes and thirty seconds.

Lauren’s eyes dart around desperately for an answer.

And finds one: she rips off the tarp of a large container chock-full of grenades. Underneath, worse.

“Got you,” she mutters under her breath, snapping a picture of what lies beneath. Her hand curls around a sample of the vials coated in padding, shaking the white cotton off of it. 

Two minutes. No, one minute and fifty-five seconds.

“Ready to leave?”

Somewhere, footsteps are coming and shouting is, too.

“Hope you can swim,” she calls out, grabbing his sword and flinging it through the window, which breaks, glass tumbling down to the sea. In a flash, Kieran grabs her by the waist, clamping his mouth shut.

“Are you ready?”

Thirty seconds.

“Here we go.”

____

__  
  


A knocking sounds at Will’s door, and he opens it to find Kym in civilian clothing, a blue wool coat over her neatly-dressed frame. The lights from the buildings behind her shine like stars in an inky sea.

“You’re late,” he says politely, coughing. He swings open the door wide, but she practically barges in, dumping the duffel bag she carries onto one of the loveseats in his living room. 

“Yeah, yeah, but you’ll be thanking me once this is over, won’t you?” she says, scanning his apartment. Her nose turns up. 

“I think you need to use less fabric cleaner, Hawkes.”

“I don’t--” He sighs, a vein popping in his head. “Can we not?”

No response.

“Kym?”

She’s silent, fingers brushing over the piano in the parlor room just a few strides away from him. His father had granted it to him from a young age when he’d first started to play, and it glimmers in the light, black and white keys without a speck of dust to be found on them.

_ Clair du Lune, L. 32 par Claude Debussy,  _ reads the sheet music.

“Kym,” he whispers softly, and they are back in front of that jewelry shop again, watching each other attempt to prevent the other fall from grace, but they cannot, and so they seek what is  _ normal  _ between them.

She snaps him out of it, as always. 

“Just looking!”

Her hand brushes against his as she perches on the crimson sofa, tossing over the contents of the duffel bag.

“You stole private property,” he surmises, looking over the papers in his hand. “These are our colleagues’ work, you know that?”

“Well, we’ve been given a mission,” she said quietly, hands folded over her knees. “But that isn’t the point.”

“The point being?”

“Point being,” she says, and William wonders if this is the most genuine she’s ever been with him, “I found something I didn’t want to find.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Facts: The Princess's Theater was an actual theater in Victorian London, in 1828, and the Duke Wellington Statue can be seen in modern-day London.
> 
> Additional Fun Fact: I think I have an addiction to date scenes.
> 
> ('workplace conversations' will be going on a mini-hiatus for two weeks or more, as life calls! I promise to update chapters 5-10 post May 26th-ish, and will probably have the series completed before season 2 releases. Fear not for now, fellow lovelies. Hang in there!)


	5. gullible geraniums

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He's back, again, but not quite the same as she left him.
> 
> Rarely anything is the same in her dreams these days.
> 
> "Wake up," Dylan whispers to her, ten years older, and ten years sadder. A geranium is in both their hands. "It's time to leave the past behind."

There is a full moon tonight.

It casts shadows on Lauren’s bed, and she lies awake, not willing to let her eyes flutter shut. Something monstrous lingers in the darkness tonight, and her gut feeling is shouting danger at her all throughout it. Papers from the detective board on the wall rustle in the wind at the same time her lily-white covers do, and she watches as faint wisps of fog travel across the clear Ardhalis sky against a backdrop of blue midnight.

It’s calm.

In Lauren’s head, it’s anything but, much less serene.

Approximately two hours beforehand, she and Kieran had escaped a ship full of dangerous weapons by jumping into a freezing harbor in the middle of winter, and both had emerged on the other side of the port unharmed, but freezing cold and with vials of poison on Lauren herself. They’d made a pact to discuss this tomorrow, but the temperature outside must be getting to her more than she thought, because no matter how much she tosses and turns under the covers, the chill never leaves her blood.

Somehow, in the recesses of her mind, she understands it is not because of the water she feels this way.

He is like an imprint on her mind: a picture stuck to the board called vengeance in her brain, a picture that is never forgotten, no matter how much she tries to forget. 

Along the way, somehow, Lauren is able to feign sleep by squeezing her eyes shut, black closing over the lids of her irises. 

An hour later when she does drift off, it is fitful, and full of flashes of sunlit gardens and chases through forests that have no name. The branches above are not welcoming this time; they twist and unravel like claws, and the ground below her feet is mucky and brown, this close to swallowing two children into its depths with ease.

“Where are you?!” she shouts, lost in the fog somewhere. “I can’t find you!”

No response.

And then:

He's back, again, but not quite the same as she left him.

Rarely anything is the same in her dreams these days.

"Wake up," Dylan whispers to her, ten years older, and ten years sadder. A geranium is in both their hands. "It's time to leave the past behind."

She doesn’t scream when she does, but instead bolts up soundlessly, hands clamped over her lips. Lauren tosses the covers onto the bed, and paces over to the phone on the wall, body trembling with fear. It’s been a while since she’s had a nightmare this intense, and she just needs someone, _anyone-_

Lauren slowly eases her hand back from the phone when she realizes whose number she’s been dialing.

_“Well, we’re partners for real now, aren’t we? Just don’t call me in the middle of the night, officer. I might not be around due to my little side hobby.”_

There’s no way she can call him.

She swallows harshly. 

He doesn’t need her burdens. He’s made that fact very clear in the past.

So Lauren settles for the next best thing; in her case, it’s trodding down to the kitchen without making a single noise. She takes care to avoid the creaky step at the bottom of the stairs, vaulting over it and walking into the kitchen with steps as light as a wraith’s. It only takes a bit of fumbling before she reaches inside the cabinet and finds a bottle of benzodiazepines. She hasn’t taken these in months.

But the nightmares keep getting worse, and she is a coward.

Two pills rattle into her hand, and she swallows them down harshly alongside a glass of water half-full. Lauren kneels by the kitchen counter, head resting against the countertop, and waits for the sleeping medicine to kick in.

____

  
  


Seeing him is a shock to her system, but Lauren doesn’t let him know. Kieran is waiting outside her house with a bouquet full of pink roses, dressed in his usual workplace attire. It’s still odd reconciling both halves of him - when she’s only known the cocksure, arrogant version of himself - with the timid little mouse that operates in the office, but it gets easier when she reminds herself it’s all a facade in the end. Winter is easing up, and grass pokes out of the cobblestones underneath Lauren’s boots. 

“Romanticism hasn’t left your bones yet, I see.”

“It hasn’t.” He hands her the bouquet, and this time, she doesn’t throw it away into the nearest trash bin for a change. “Walk with me, will you?”

“We had quite the escapade last night. Don’t tell me this is another of your clever cover-ups.”

“Well, people are going to think we went on a date last night, judging from our pallor. Amongst other things.”

He winks at her.

Lauren remains stone-cold.

“Fine, fine. How you wound me, officer. What did you find on the vials?”

“Well, as I suspected, they’re a type of poison,” Lauren whispers under her breath, as they round a corner. More automobiles dash up and down the streets to the office, and a horse-drawn carriage passes by them. “And I can’t get an analysis on them instantly, but I do know an old contact of mine from when I was an official detective. I’ll send him samples within the afternoon.”

“The Scythe has always been hellbent on a revolution as their end goal, no matter what,” Kieran surmises. “I suspect those vials are only indicative of a larger plot at hand.”

“There was the circus ticket I found in the hotel,” Lauren reminds him, snapping her fingers. “It could be possible the two are connected.”

A glimmer of something darker flashes in his eyes. “Looks like I’m going to have to do some research later on.”

“Well, you have all you need at your disposal, so I’m sure you’ll be fine,” she says, spreading her hands out. “How useful it must’ve been, becoming an archivist.”

**“You could call it useful, yes.”**

“You really need to learn how to lie better.”

“Ah, but it wasn’t useful as I thought in the end, wasn’t it?” he says, walking in front of her, ebony hair waving in the wind. “You weren’t around to threaten people for me.”

“So someone’s accepted their duty as my subordinate?”

_“You-”_

“Beg, and **maybe I’ll reconsider not killing you** ,” she says, winking at him.

Kieran mutters a string of curses under his breath, all while Lauren chuckles silently.

They pass a flower shop on their way to the office, and she raises an eyebrow as they pass a stall full of hydrangeas - alongside pairs of yellow and purple hyacinths. Kieran doesn’t say a word as they pass by, but that doesn’t stop Lauren from staring at him all the way through.

“I wonder,” she says slowly, the locked door from his apartment coming to mind, “where you get your supply from.”

“Oh, I have a farm,” he says nonchalantly, as if they were discussing the weather, and not where the infamous most dreaded assassin this city has ever known gets his _flower supply._ “Shipments come in from there. It’s a private thing. I should really visit my sheep one of these days. It’s been a while.”

She gapes at him.

“I’m not lying,” he teases. “You can tell that much.”

“For once, I wish you were,” she groans. “You? A farmer?”

“There are worse things.”

“There are,” Lauren groans. The office is nearly in front of them. “Well? Ready to tip the office off?”

“Oh, I don’t have to,” Kieran says, opening the door to the building. “They already know.”

For the second time that day, Lauren is caught off guard.

_____

“So it’s from Lune...but not really?”

“Apparently,” Will says, tossing the file onto the desk where all four of them are clustered. “Hermann is not happy about this, as you have seen.”

“Oh, we’ve seen,” Kieran says, watching Lauren roll her eyes. “Also, I do question why I’m being called to this meeting alongside you three.”

“You’re Lauren’s partner. My friend here would not choose someone who did not have a brain. I think,” Kym says, squinting so hard at her Lauren thinks her eyes might burst. “So, you can help us plan our next raid. The precinct’s going to patrol the main district this week in hopes of catching Lune.”

  
“He has a brain,” Lauren confirms. _Unfortunately._ “What do we have so far?”

Kym and Will share a glance - it is a glance that lasts only for a split second, but enough for Lauren to know that there is already something deeper at hand going on here. They share their own secrets, as sanctified as whispers shared between partners in the evening light.

Once, she would’ve given Kieran the same look.

The nightmare from before flashes through her mind, and she shakes it off.

“We know Lune knew about the shipments before the precinct did. We also know several Apostles were near the scene when the ships arrived. Several of them might’ve been knocked unconscious at the scene, as well. But the detective sect of the precinct has deduced several places the Scythe may be meeting within the next week, and some of them reside within the main district of the city. We just have to narrow them down,” Will finishes.

“Which means hours of lugging through precedent cases,” Kym yawns. “Which is where you come in, flower boy.”

_“Flower boy?!”_

“Keep calling him that,” Lauren says, smirking as a vein pops in the assassin’s head. And he can’t retort because that would be out of character, and oh, she has him trapped. Today is perfection. Maybe she should make Kym stay longer when Kieran’s around. He’d probably drop dead within the week.

“I can easily find some of those,” Kieran says, sending a death glare Lauren’s way. “But it would take a while.”

“Lune would be around the exact same area we would be, then,” Lauren deduces. “Isn’t that just guesswork?”

“Best thing we have so far,” Will admits. There’s something in his eyes she can’t pinpoint.

“As much as I’d like to curtsy before Lune and thank them for their services, I can’t,” his companion says, blowing a strand of blue out of her face. “So our next best option is capturing both. Even if it may be detrimental to our force.”

“Stupid decision, but not surprising in the slightest,” she says. “Why are we doing this again?”

“Because we have no choice,” Kym says, and her voice is unusually somber. “And sometimes the right choices are the hardest ones.”

____

Slowly, the office empties overnight.

The last person to pack their bags is Lila, who waves to Lauren and makes her swear not to overwork herself as always. Lauren promises she won’t, and then immediately follows up on that lie by promptly shoving all her paperwork into her bag and moving down to the archives. 

Kieran is there, as expected, working by candlelight. Gold pours over his features as he watches her sit across from him, moving another chair by her side. It’s dark outside, and for once, Ardhalis’s skies are clear, stars twinkling above.

“Fancy seeing you here.”

“I know you do,” she says, hands hovering over the plan they’ve pulled from the closet board, now filled with cramped notes in both her and Kieran’s writing. “Do we have another target?”

“I should be asking you that, shouldn’t I?”

“Ah, so you’ve seen.” Lauren whips a photograph out of her pocket. “Marcus St. George. Connections to the royal family.”

“Does he make poisons in his spare time?”

“Not quite, but he does have investments in - wouldn’t you like to hear it.”

“Try me.”

“Rare and expensive perfumes,” she says, sliding the photo over to him. “And one of those perfumes being marketed as ‘nightshade.’”

“So the vials are being charaded as market items,” Kieran says, slowly turning the picture in his hands. “How typical of Belladonna to oversee something marketing her own name.”

“If the poison actually has anything to do with nightshade flowers, we’ll know within the week. I called up my old contact, and he’ll have our evidence soon.” Lauren lies her head on the desk with her chin on her hands. “So all we do now is wait.”

Kieran doesn’t speak for a while, and when she looks back up at him, he’s scrutinizing her face.

“What?”

He inhales sharply, then closes his mouth to realize he can’t say what he was about to say. “You look exhausted.”

“I always do.” She waves it off. “I’m surprised it took you this long to notice. Call it a product of life-long insomnia.”

“You were **snoring** the night you stayed at my apartment.”

“I was _not._ ” She looks up at him. “I should be the one asking about your sleeping habits, assassin. You didn’t sleep at all that night.”

He is cut off by a flash of lightning.

“And now the storm is coming,” Lauren says, shuffling her boots off, socks scraping against the wooden floors. “Good timing,” she says sarcastically. “I wasn’t planning on going back to the manor anyhow.”

“You really should develop better habits.”

“I don’t see either of us improving, though, do I?” she bites out. There is a clear venom in her words, and she slunks back into her languid pose, golden eyes flashing in the darkness like a cat’s. “We all do what we have to do.”

“I don’t need my partner dropping dead in the middle of the night, working.”

“And yet, here you were, waiting for me,” she says quietly. 

“Call it loneliness,” he says, twirling a knife in the air. Lauren doesn’t bother to ask where he got it. 

“You need a partner,” she manages out slowly, “who is just as clear-headed as you, if not more at times. And if I’m not that - if I somehow get worse than what I was when we were Lune - I want you to end our contract, right then and there.”

His knife stills.

“Are you suggesting I leave you in the du-”

“You don’t need rocks dragging you down, officer,” she says. “Choose a better partner next time.”

“I don’t see another lie-detector in this city. Do you?”

“Buy a polygraph,” she murmurs into her sleeves.

“I never took you for a self-pitier, Lauren.”

“If this is what you think self-pity is, you haven’t seen the worst of me,” she barks out, laughing mirthlessly. His words echo in her mind like a drum: _I need you, I need you, I need you._ And the fact that the truth behind it isn’t a lie hurts all the more. He needs her skillset. He does not need her. Does she even need him, were it not for his skills as well?

No.

No, she doesn’t.

The half-truth lands on her tongue bitter as salt.

Somewhere along the line, sleep comes to claim her from drowning further into the darkness of her mind.

____

When she wakes, someone has left their coat over her shoulders. A jacket rests under her arms as a pillow.

Sandalwood and flowers.

His jacket.

His coat.

And a polygraph in front of her, broken in half, with a note residing on it.

_Didn't work,_ it reads. _Looks like you're stuck with me, Sinclair._

She tries to not smile, but can't help her lips twitching upwards in a small gesture of appreciation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone: So what's your kink?  
> Me, looking up from 2.5k of words: People discussing their trauma and bonding over it and getting through their past scars in a way that is simultaneously emotionally healthy and a cathartic experience.
> 
> (If anyone catches the Taylor Swift reference I threw in here, I will give you free cake for a year.)  
> ___
> 
> twitter: @volonxite  
> ko-fi: [ here](https://ko-fi.com/obliviolunaiswriting)


	6. lovely lily

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He slides the flower behind her ear, tucking it behind a strand of hair. The scent of lilies hits her nose, and Lauren's eyes blink open, wondering how such gentleness can reside in eyes that were blank with expressionlessness centuries ago, when there was nothing but screaming around them and blood had hit his skin like flower petals on marble.
> 
> _Perhaps a monster can also be one's beloved after all,_ she surmises.

_“All units must report to the main square. I repeat, all patrol units must report to the main square!”_

Lauren hisses as she shrugs on her coat at the speed of light, shuffling the white mask she wears so often onto the brow of her nose. It wasn’t the wake-up call she was expecting, but a wake-up call nonetheless. She supposes the precinct have found their lead - and a sense of dread fills her to the brim when she realizes simultaneously it may mean doom for her when she gets there.

Along with-

No, not now.

She yanks her hair into its familiar ponytail, and bursts out the door.

____

St. George’s manor is a discreet building - something Lauren wasn’t expecting it to be. It’s tucked in-between two relatively similar buildings that are both the same shade of mucky brown, and as Will leads the patrol force up to the manor, she sees people rushing out of the house - various staff and maids and butlers. Some of them are gravely injured. The thought sends her head spinning.

What the hell has happened here?

“It’s possible the Scythe still resides within the manor!” the Lieutenant’s voice booms. “Sergeant, you five, you’re with me. Lauren, lead the rest in. See if there are any survivors.”

“I’m on it.”

“Be careful,” he warns her, grabbing her arm as she passes by him.

“When have I ever not been?” she asks, twisting out of his grip, and with one bullet, dislodges the lock to the gates, bursting in.

Fear rushes up and down her veins as ice as she and the others enter the manor. Her eyes widen when she sees the state of the foyer - the place has been completely ransacked, broken furniture toppled all over the place; cracked wooden floors, feathers spilling out of a couch in the corner. Bloodstains everywhere. Something is dripping off the darkened walls - it smells incredibly bitter. 

Lauren clamps a gloved hand over her nose. “Pull up your masks, everyone. I’m headed for the second floor.”

“Sinclair-”

“Search for survivors!” she yells behind her, pulling black cloth over her mouth and nose as she darts up the staircase.

The second floor is just as worse as the first, except that here, more bitter fluid drenches the walls. Lauren winces as the faint scent of it wafts throughout the area, floating throughout the dusty air. A beam of light hits the floor in front of her, shining a light on the darkened stuff. She kneels down in front of it, watching as it shifts from an inky black to a poisonous green.

_It_ is _poison,_ she realizes too late. _Slow acting stuff._

She needs to bring this back to the precinct, they need to know. Kieran needs to know. And Hermann-

It feels like years have passed since she made a deal with him, and yet, Lauren knows that if she only revealed the truth to everyone including him, she’d have her position back in a matter of seconds. It would only require her punishment and the assassin’s execution. 

Her hand hovers over the poison. She should not touch it; who knows how the stuff reacts. What it’s made of. 

A shadow hovers over her.

A sharp scream echoes throughout the floor, and only when Lauren feels something wet at her side does she realize the shouts are coming from her. She’s been wounded. 

She targets the figure in black robes across from her, blocking her bullets with a dagger in its hands, all while clutching at the cut at her side. The pistol in her hands only has five left in its arsenal, and Lauren switches the safety on her gun as she pulls out her own knife, darting towards her attacker. Vials of the poison are in its pocket - she can see the glass poking out of the fabric - and Lauren takes care to avoid hitting those as she meets the attacker’s blades with hers. 

A sudden wave of dizziness comes over her as she barely manages to dodge a fist coming her way, but the second attack hits her square in the jaw, making her topple backwards into an antique drawer.

Her attacker’s blade hits the light, and Lauren can make out her blood on it, tinged with green.

Of course the damn thing’s been poisoned, too.

Lauren strains to get up, firing at the kneecaps of her attacker. The hooded figure collapses, but manages to still get up, cornering her in the hallway.

Another blow, and she’s finished.

She forces herself to stand, but her legs collapse from under her, and she yells as the blade slashes at her cheek, hands clutching at her face. 

The figure is inspecting her. 

It hasn’t killed her yet.

_An Apostle,_ she theorizes. _Could it be - no. If they were, I’d be -_

_Unless they knew._

And before Lauren can raise her hands to shield herself from the blunt force of the Apostle’s daggers, a sword rips through the figure’s midriff, blood spattering onto the floor. They fall to the ground, and above them steps forward Kieran himself, clad in dark clothing, usual bun in place, but half-moon glasses on his figure dotted with red.

A fusion of his facade and his true self; monster and man simultaneously. 

“Idiot,” she hears him whisper under his breath, her head swirling with thoughts. Before she can fall, Kieran hooks a thumb under her chin, pulling her forward, noses touching.

“Don’t you dare fall asleep on me,” he growls, every inch a commanding force. “I need you to stay awake and count to five for me. Can you do that?”

She nods with difficulty.

It hurts. It hurts to stay awake.

Just yesterday, they were - were _alright -_ and now she is on the brink of death and he is on the verge of getting caught.

_One._

Kieran unsheathes his blade as more figures appear out of the darkness. They were not there before. Somewhere below the manor, the patrol force is in danger.

There are screams. 

They are not coming from her.

_Two._

She watches as he moves with all the fluidity of a dancer and the madness of a killer, striking down his own brood.

_Three._

Two more to go.

He looks calm as ever. But when he sneaks a glance at her, Lauren sees the panic in his eyes, the grit of his teeth.

Her eyes flutter half-closed.

_Four._

Almost there.

_Five._

The world goes dark.

There is nothing but red left.

____

She comes to choking and sputtering on cold fluid, and Lauren nearly bangs her head into Kieran’s as she bolts up, clutching at her stomach as she retches into a waste bin on the side of the medical cot.

“I-”

“Devil’s trumpet,” Kieran says, waving a vial full of the green poison she’d seen earlier. “Datura. You’re lucky the poison was common and had an antidote.”

“They-”

“They know, and you need to rest,” he grunts, pushing her down onto the cot by her shoulders. “My, my, officer. We have a bonding moment one second and the next you fling yourself into the heart of danger?”

“To be fair, isn’t that what police officers always do?” she rasps. “What the hell happened at the manor?”

“St. George was long dead by the time you and others got there,” he says grimly. “The Phantom Scythe had laid a trap for your precinct to walk right into - were it not for you finding the Apostles in advance. And me. Who saved you from a grisly and miserable death.”

“Great, now your ego’s going to be bigger than ever,” Lauren groans, resting the side of her head on the cot, cheek against cool metal. “Are Will and Kym alright?”

“They made it out,” he says. “But the Scythe is making bigger and bigger moves day by day. I’d take caution if I were them.”

“And yes,” he says, wagging an eyebrow at her, “you’re welcome.”

Lauren groans again, loudly. **“I hate you.”**

“No, you don’t.”

“Yes, **I do.** ” 

“A shame the polygraph doesn’t work.”

“You wish,” she says, batting at him weakly. Her eyes flutter shut. “The investigation has to start again as soon as possible. We can’t just let this slide.”

“Fair, but hear me out: you also just barely survived a close encounter with death.”

“You mean you?”

“You little-”

“Don’t push it, subordinate,” she says, the familiar nickname on her lips sounding like home. It’s a joy, too, to see the veins on his forehead close to popping. Kieran shakes his head as if to clear the anger from his visage, and her eyes dart down to the flower in his hands.

“For me?”

“I’m not ‘dating’ anyone else, am I?” he asks sardonically. Before she can react, he slides the flower behind her ear, tucking it behind a strand of hair. The scent of lilies hits her nose, and Lauren’s eyes blink open, wondering how such gentleness can reside in eyes that were blank with expressionlessness centuries ago, when there was nothing but screaming around them and blood had hit his skin like flower petals on marble.

  
_Perhaps a monster can also be one’s beloved after all,_ she surmises.

____

“We’re no closer to capturing them, Sinclair,” Hermann says, slamming his hands on the desk in frustration. “I thought we made a deal.”

“We did,” she says, attempting to keep her face straight. _If it weren’t for me, you’d be running circles around your enemies still, you fool._ “And I’ve made progress, but-”

“There is no _but_ ,” the older man hisses. “The Scythe is making advances, and Lune’s supposed ‘leads’ keep venturing us into the heart of danger. I don’t care if they’re not really Lune at this point. I don’t care if those two are split up. Both are damaging this force to the bone, and should you not capture them, Sinclair-”

“I wasn’t aware this entire operation was my job,” she says coldly. “And I was demoted by you, sir, in the first place. Given current circumstances, it seems as if you want my work without my title.”

_“Sinclair.”_

“I’ll keep our end of the bargain, but that doesn’t mean I have to withstand this idiocy while I do,” she snaps, slamming the door behind her as she leaves.

And nearly runs into Kym.

“Well,” she says, wincing. “He’s mad, isn’t he?”

“Go figure,” she says, releasing a long-held breath. “He always is, but now it’s worse.”

“Don’t tell me he still blames you?”

A cold sweat breaks out on Lauren’s skin as she lies. **“No. He’s just frustrated.”**

“One of these days, we’ll get Detective Sinclair back,” Kym says, winking at her. “I swear. He’ll be so desperate by the end that he’ll be practically begging on his knees for your help.”

“That will literally never happen.”

“Doubt it,” calls Will from the sidelines. “Also, your boyfriend here told me you nearly got killed?”

She freezes up at the mention of ‘boyfriend,’ but attempts to de-tense as Kieran walks behind her, looping his arms around her waist. The warmth at her back is all-too uneasy and welcoming at the same time. Lauren is touch-starved by any and all means, but there’s no way she’s ever telling anyone _that._

“Typical of her,” Kieran snorts. “She does this often, doesn’t she?”

“Reign in Laur here for us one of these days,” Kym says, poking her cheek. “She needs it.”

“I’m not a puppy,” she hisses.

“You act like one.”

“If you don’t mind, I’ll be stealing her away for a moment,” Kieran says, hands moving down to grip her waist. She resists the urge to kick him between his legs. 

“Oh, go on,” Kym says breezily, a twinkle in her eyes. “We don’t mind in the slightest.”

“Great,” he says, and before she can react, Lauren is pulled into the hallway, hand in Kieran’s grip. When they’re out of earshot and sight from her two friends, he walks towards one of the storage closets, shoving both of them inside.

“Aren’t we being scandalous,” she says, hoping that the darkness will cloak her blush well enough as he reaches up to turn on a dim light.

“We have a lead,” he breathes, turning to her with a strange look in his eyes. “On Sake. Turns out he was partially responsible for the manor incident. Part of the manor was blown up in the back entrance, and the explosives were traced back to him.”

A cold shiver runs through Lauren’s body, but this time, she understands it is not out of fear. 

“I need you to promise me only one thing,” he says. “Don’t get yourself killed.”

“I’m not going to throw myself directly at the man who’s ruined my life for ten years straight.”

“See, when you phrase it like that, it makes it all the more doubtful that you’re not going to risk your life again. I don’t need to see you like - that, again,” he says, fists clenching at the thought of her on the floor, slowly being poisoned to death.

How ironic. A week ago, they’d been apart from each other, Lauren absolutely detesting his guts because of his attempt on her own life.

And here he is now, in all honesty, willing to preserve her life no matter what.

How they’ve gotten here, she has no clue. 

“Then let’s make a new promise,” she says, staring into his eyes. “We protect each other. And neither of us lets the other get killed,” Lauren says, inhaling deeply, “because...we _need_ each other, don’t we?”

“Yes,” Kieran says after a moment of hesitation. “Yes, we do.”

No swords this time. No daggers, no blood, no bridges.

She didn’t quite expect them to shake hands in a dim closet that smells like musk, but at the same time, senses the formation of some entirely new pact forming between them - something she cannot pinpoint. Something thicker than blood and deeper than water. 

Something that can, and will, never break.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's that? I hear you say that this is highly unlikely to occur in canon? I am aware of that. I don't care. My city now.
> 
> (We're in the second act of the fic now, folks. Buckle up - a rocky ride lies ahead.)


	7. mischievous mistletoe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He smells like charcoal and sandalwood and flowers all at once, three parts of a whole; man, monster, myth. She wonders if she surprises him too, by being with him on this night, gentle and pliant in his arms as they swing around the living room. Tonight is a far cry from when he'd first come into her office without permission, where she had been his nemesis incarnate, vengeance, annihilation, and now here she is, his other half, trickery, truth, patience. 
> 
> And then their eyes lock, and his hand tightens around her waist, heat blooming on her hip, and she wonders if she is not so patient after all.

She hasn’t worn this outfit in ages.

The shadows in the back alley hide her from plain sight, and the clothing Lauren wears helps her blend in all the better. A black fedora; matching trench coat. Below, slacks and a pressed white shirt, tie fiercely knotted. It resembles her old detective uniform; but not quite. She fiddles with the gold-rimmed glasses in her hands.

It’s ten minutes until he comes out. All she has to do is wait.

Her handcuffs are in one pocket; her pistol in the other. They’re small comforts, and at this point, she treats them more like talismans for luck than actual weapons. She watches as the door to the tea shop opens, bell clinking in mid-air, as someone in a green coat exits. Lauren shifts her position in the alley to better cover her presence, as she waits for the figure to approach into the darker parts of the alleyway.

When he is next to her, she pounces, clicking off the safety on her pistol as she presses it to the back of the middle-aged man’s head.

“It’s wonderful to see you again, Hector.”

“You again, Sinclair,” he says, letting out a bark of laughter. “Thought the detectives had gotten rid of you?”

“They did. But you don’t take a shark out of water,” she says, shrugging slightly as she clicks the safety back into place. “What were you doing in The Red Rose?”

“Ah, for old time’s sake,” he says, lighting a cigar in his hands. “You want another tale, don’t you?”

“You bet.” She lowers the gun slightly. “Start talking.”

____

_“You’re slipping, Hyacinth.”_

“This isn’t the best time,” Kieran hisses under his breath.

_“And this is not like you,”_ rasps the voice through the phone. He lowers his head, voice growing softer as two people pass by the archives. _“You are running out of time. Were it not for your spotless track record, I would’ve thought you were delaying.”_

“Lune is quite the slippery snake,” he says. “They’re one of the most difficult cases I’ve had thus far. But you needn’t worry. I’ll have their heads soon based on the evidence I’ve gathered.”

_“Then make it quick.”_

A click on the other side of the line gives Kieran the cue to hang up.

A week and a half and Lauren and him still hadn’t figured out a plan. How they were going to off _themselves,_ he had no clue about. And if desperate measures had to be taken - no. He would not break his code despite the urgency of their situation. Not this time.

He had been vulnerable with her, and she, for once, had reciprocated. A puzzle piece of her covered heart had come into place, and so had his. To break what they had now would be sacrilege, and neither of them could come back from that.

He was one of them. One of the shadows that formed the Phantom Scythe, and if anyone could sneak under their watchful eye, it would be him. There had to be another way. 

It didn’t matter that it hadn’t worked before.

It would have to work now.

Kieran looked down at his hands.

Once, they’d been scarred with ropes of red, for once, not from others, but from himself-

_You are going to do this,_ he commanded himself. _You are going to get out alive._

______

“We’ve gotten our invitations!” Kym says, slamming four tickets on the table where they’re all gathered. The wood shudders with the force of her palm, and Lauren’s eyes widen in recognition: four identical gold and red circus-themed tickets, all stating _ADMIT ONE, 11/17/27._

Kieran’s eyes dart briefly towards her, and she nods, just barely. They both know she’s seen these before, but wouldn’t dare give that away in a heartbeat.

“The ball is circus-themed?” Will asks, holding one up to the light curiously. “Odd choice.”

“I’m not one to question the nobility’s preferences,” Kieran says, flipping the ticket back and forth in his hands. “But I’m assuming these are our official invites to the party?”

“Guess so,” Lauren replies, flicking the gold ticket in-between her index and second. “We’ll most likely be on duty.”

“Except you.” She looks next to her to see Kym nudging her shoulder, eyebrows raised. “You do know the Sinclairs are expected to make their first public appearance since - well, the incident, and all? Even the Chief couldn’t wiggle his way out of this.”

She can’t help groaning into her hands. “Great. I have to be paraded along with Tristan and the others? Won’t _some_ people get a kick out of us.”

“Oh, they will,” Kieran says, smirking widely.

Lauren holds back the urge to hit him. “I’ll just use an old gown. No fanfare for that, at least.”

“Wrong again!” Kym exclaims, hitting the top of her head with the ticket. “The press will be there. It’s a huge event, Laur. You could at least tongue-tie some people while you’re at it.”

“I have a bad feeling about this,” Will groans.

“Yes, I am dragging you along for dress-shopping later, Hawkes. And don’t you dare cop out on me.”

She holds back a snort. “I don’t blame you if you want to drop dead right now, Will.”

“Thanks for the understanding.”

Kieran looks down at the ticket with an odd expression. “Where’s Westminster Hall located again?”

“Oh, by the river Westbourne. By the high-class perfume and dress shops. Apparently they’re doing a boat show there later, too? It’s all for the nobles.”

Her gaze whips over to his.

“If you’d excuse us-”

Kieran promptly drags her out of the room without a word. 

____

Something is pulling at the edges of Kym’s mind.

It’s like a nervous tic she can’t get rid of, but she knows better. This isn’t just instinct, it’s suspicion, and what Kieran and Lauren have been doing the past few days - or rather what they’ve been seen not doing - have only confirmed her darkest suspicions. Ever since she’d handed over Lauren’s discrepancies in her paperwork to Will, the two had agreed to not speak about any qualms they had about their friend, but the frantic energy she had this week was obviously off.

Which leaves them no choice.

“I don’t want to believe she’s Lune,” Kym says, head sliding against the cool glass windows of the hallway, “but there’s no other option.”

Will says nothing for a beat of ten.

“You’re right.”

“You not immediately telling me I’m wrong alarms me,” she says, laughing mirthlessly. “The evidence adds up too easily. I don’t want to believe it either, but…”

“And you know that _he_ is most likely her partner-in-crime too, right?”

“Which doesn’t make sense,” she hisses, banging a fist on the wall. “This entire thing is like a stupid chess game! Hermann sends her on a wild goose chase to find herself and Kieran, while we’re sent after them? They’re stuck. We’re stuck. We might even be caught in the act.”

“Hey, hey,” the blonde says, stepping up to her, hands raised. “You’re overthinking this, Kym-"

“We’re all puppets on strings,” she breathes, voice sharp and high-pitched. “I can’t believe I was so blind, so _stupid-_ ”

“Kym, _listen to me._ Nothing is going to happen to us. I’ve got you, alright? I’ve got you.” Before she can react, he’s pulling her towards him fiercely, hands covering hers. She remembers when they last did this, after she’d panicked after Harvey’s death. 

The thought of their blood on the cobblestones makes her want to hurl.

“I knew you weren’t always happy-go-lucky from the start,” he mutters into her hair. “So this once, can you just not pretend with me? You don’t have to.” The last part is quieter.

“I promise.”

She swallows harshly.

“I don’t pretend.”

He looks down at her.

“Not with you, at least.” 

The confession is truthful, and it leaves them both speechless; Kym more stunned into silence than anything.

“The past never leaves you,” she says, after what feels like centuries. “I’m not letting it happen again. I don’t want to lose her - any of them. I already lost once.” Her hands ball into fists, and she can feel her nails biting into the skin of her palm.

She inhales deeply. “You know what this means, then, right?”

Will crosses his arms, a small smile coming to rest on his face. “Something tells me you won’t mind lying behind Hermann’s back.”

“Or breaking the law,” she adds, grinning mischievously. “Time for a little vigilantism, don’t you think, William?”

____

“They’re planning something,” Lauren says, pacing back and forth in the archives. “No doubt about it. It can’t be simple sheer luck, between the events of the past few days and the location of the ball at River Westbourne.”

“Especially considering that circus ticket you found in Flemming’s pocket, and the perfume shops by the river,” Kieran says, resting his chin on his hands. “The Scythe’s taking their last steps to their next part of the grand plan.”

“Obviously,” she huffs, twiddling the forget-me-not he’d given her in-between her fingers. When she senses him looking at her, she looks up curiously to see the slightest surprise on his face.

To her own surprise, Lauren matches his smile. She walks over to the board, hooking a finger over one of the red threads connecting the pieces together on it. “The only way we’ll know for sure is to attend the ball ourselves. But I’ve made some progress on Belladonna’s poison.” She stuffs a hand into her pocket and unveils a green vial with a small script on paper written on top of it. 

“Solanaceae, the dangerous kind. Nightshade, as we suspected, but this one is particularly poisonous. Hallucination-inducing, possibly deathly if come in contact with, much less drunk. It travels fast through blood, and faster through water. You could get a hefty sum for trading this on the market.”

Kieran’s eyes travel down to the vial in her hands. “That last part I didn’t know about.”

“I did a little...digging,” Lauren admits. “The old contact of mine was visiting a tea shop that is a cover for one of Ardhalis’s biggest black markets involving drugs. I just had to pull a couple strings and ask where he got the money from.”

“And after?” His grin is growing wider.

“I followed the receipts back to where the poisons were bought and why they were used. I won’t tell you the full story, but it did involve my pistol and a couple of unwilling criminals.”

“Well, Detective Sinclair makes an appearance at last, doesn’t she?” Kieran says, gesturing to her with an expression that almost looks like pride, were it not for Lauren’s own doubts about their closeness. 

“Some things never change.”

“I’m glad they haven’t,” he says, plucking the vial from her hands as he walks over to her, inspecting it. “Well, this’ll certainly be helpful. We have a solid lead now.”

“I have a feeling we’ll need a little longer than the scant hour we have left at the office.” Lauren gestures to the clock above her. “And I don’t feel like spending five hours here like we did last time.”

“How dare you insult my archives.”

“You’ll get over it,” she says, batting at his shoulder.

“You know my door’s always open,” Kieran says, then looks as if he wants to slap himself for even offering such a thing. “If you don’t feel like breaking your back by sleeping over a desk for the thousandth time this evening.” Now he looks as if he wants to slap himself even harder. Lauren can feel her cheeks ablaze. If he wants to strike himself, Lauren wants to dig a hole five feet under and bury herself there.

“Sure.”

Her conscience screams at her, and promptly settles down in the nearest seaside town.

“Great.” He coughs into his palm. “Then it’s settled.”

She hasn’t been to his apartment since-

No, she shouldn’t be thinking of that now, when they’ve repaired most of what they’ve broken.

“It’s a date, then,” she says with an attempt at ease, but feels anything but.

____

It’s nearly ten at night when she comes in, rubbing at her back. Kym had dragged her along for shopping as she’d promised, with Will forced to be at the sergeant’s beck and call. She’d finally selected a dress that had satisfied Kym’s requirements, and had been wrung ragged by the entire ordeal. Which is why she isn’t surprised to see Kieran’s wince at her exhausted state.

“You look terrible.”

“For once, I don’t feel like shooting you for that comment,” she drawls, clicking the doorknob behind her and plopping on one of the couches in the living room. The faint smell of oranges and mint is coming from the kitchen, and she looks behind her to see Kieran readying two glasses of cordial. 

“This’ll keep you awake,” he says, handing her one. “Trust me. I’d know.”

“Thanks,” she says, and downs the thing in two swallows. Lauren spots a man carting branches of mistletoe outside, thick branches of leaves with white berries hanging from them alongside small yellow buds of flowers. The Winter Solstice must be approaching soon. With all the work going on between the police precinct and her being a part of the investigation, she’s hardly noticed the preparations for one of Ardhalis’s biggest holidays going on.

“You’re not decorating?” Lauren asks, shuffling back into the cushions. Kieran sits a good distance away from her, swinging his feet up, and a part of her wishes he wouldn’t separate himself from her so.

“Don’t see the use in doing so,” he says, snorting. “Besides, haven’t you recalled I have other means of decoration?”

“Silly me,” she says, rolling her eyes. “I forgot _ flowers  _ are more your thing.”

“Spot-on, darling.”

She undoes her ponytail, sliding the band onto her wrist as she lets auburn locks fall free on her shoulders, raking a hand through it.  “I can’t believe I’ve forgotten. The manor’s practically going insane with maids attempting to do up the entire house. Uncle Tristan’s going insane.”

“Isn’t that quite the visual image.”

“It is,” she says, chuckling softly. When exactly did this happen between the two of them, exactly? How did unease with each other so easily segue into a comfortable unspoken reliance on one another? It had happened long before their promise in the closet. She just couldn’t pinpoint when. 

A piano melody comes from somewhere in the room, and she looks next to her to see Kieran adjusting the phonograph on one of the drawers nearby. She recognizes the tune; Will’s played it on more than one occasion.

“How good are you at the box waltz?”

“Hmm?”

“Not familiar at all, I see,” he says, offering a hand her way. “Come on.”

She raises an eyebrow at him. “I may be attending the ball as a guest, but I am most certainly  _ not  _ dancing in the slightest.”

“Yes, you are, because someone will ask you to dance, knowing how you’ll look during the entire affair,  _ mon bien-aime. _ Don’t be foolish.” He gestures to her again. “I won’t scream even if you step on my toes a hundred times.”

“Maybe I should for the fun of it,” she grumbles, taking it at last.

They venture into a relatively clear part of his apartment, between the kitchen island and the couch. His hand circles around her waist, and she grips onto his shoulders as he murmurs instructions quietly as they begin stepping back and forth, in a rhythm that feels awkward at first try.

It’s so much easier to dance the harmony of a fight, but to waltz to an actual melody is something else. Lauren doesn’t end up stepping on his toes, but the song is barely halfway through when she fumbles through two of the steps.

“It’s forwards shift first, not backwards.”

“Apologies, mother,” she drones, wincing as she goes off rhythm again.

By the third time the song begins to play, she’s gotten better at it, and Kieran starts moving them around the room rather than staying in place with her. Her hand squeezes his as they traverse in a neat circle, head nearly level with his shoulders.

He smells like charcoal and sandalwood and flowers all at once, three parts of a whole; man, monster, myth. She wonders if she surprises him too, by being with him on this night, gentle and pliant in his arms as they swing around the living room. Tonight is a far cry from when he'd first come into her office without permission, where she had been his nemesis incarnate, vengeance, annihilation, and now here she is, his other half, trickery, truth, patience. 

And then their eyes lock, and his hand tightens around her waist, heat blooming on her hip, and she wonders if she is not so patient after all.

“You…”

Her eyes flicker down to his mouth.

She is at a loss for words, for once.

He isn’t looking away from her.

“Lauren.”

Her name on his lips sends shivers down her spine. An inch closer, and they are almost-

_ BANG. _

A snowball landing on the window tears them apart.

“Apologies, dearest maiden.” Kieran steps away from her, strangely avoidant of her gaze as he bows lightly. “I have to go yell at several kids for throwing snowballs at my window.”

“No problem,” she croaks out, watching numbly as he leaves to go do said screaming.

_Well, crap,_ her conscience says, sipping on coconut water while getting a tan. _Aren’t you in it now, Lauren._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *looks up from notes to see you all screaming at me because of the cop-out almost kiss*
> 
> Be patient, lovelies.
> 
> (I've achieved Soph/Eph levels of trolling now. This is the greatest day of my life.)


	8. acrid anemone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _You’ve been denying a lot of things for a while now,_ an inner voice says. _Do you want to keep denying them?_
> 
> Even if she hides what she feels from him...now, there is no turning back. Lauren has trapped herself here on her own account, and there is no getting out of this scenario. The force of the realization hits her as her heart rams against her chest at the sight of Kieran flipping pancakes in a skillet, shirt rumpled and ponytail messy. He could not look more at ease. Sun streams through the windows, illuminating the glassware and utensils set up on the table.
> 
> He’s done this all for her.
> 
> What a contrast to when she’d last been here.

When she wakes, the kitchen is alive with activity.

Lauren pulls the heavy blankets off the couch, startling as she nearly rolls onto the floor, darting upright and scratching at her head. The memories from last night pour into her mind, swirling in a jumble of confused emotion: she’d _danced_ with Kieran White, and had nearly kissed him, for goodness’ sake. The latter thought makes her nauseous.

_You’ve been denying a lot of things for a while now,_ an inner voice says. _Do you want to keep denying them?_

Even if she hides what she feels from him...now, there is no turning back. Lauren has trapped herself here on her own account, and there is no getting out of this scenario. The force of the realization hits her as her heart rams against her chest at the sight of Kieran flipping pancakes in a skillet, shirt rumpled and ponytail messy. He could not look more at ease. Sun streams through the windows, illuminating the glassware and utensils set up on the table.

He’s done this all for her.

What a contrast to when she’d last been here.

“Awake, are we?” he says, turning to face her with spatula in hand.

Lauren promptly falls off the couch and headfirst into the floor.

“I’m fine.”

“I can see that,” he says, and she doesn’t have to look up to know he’s smirking at her. “Thank goodness you brought extra clothes over, officer, because you look like a mess right now.”

“Don’t push your luck,” she retorts, straightening her rumpled shirt and pants. “You can cook?”

“Another of my many talents.” He gestures to the table. “Breakfast?”

“I’m just impressed you didn’t burn anything,” she says, settling down into one of the wooden chairs. 

“I’ve never seen you cook,” he retorts, watching her sit across from her, daintily setting her napkin on her lap, adjusting her utensils accordingly as he sets a stack of pancakes on her plate. She tops them with butter, holding back a reaction as he slides a bowl of blueberries towards her. Maybe Kieran’s cooking skills do have something on the maids of the manor after all.

“Well?”

**“...Passable,”** she says after a while, promptly shoving a forkful of buttered pancake in her mouth after she’s done swallowing.

Kieran smirks. “Of course they are.”

“You and I have a long day ahead of us,” she mutters, swirling her orange juice. “Anyhow. The ball’s in less than two hours, and I have to get ready by then. Just be thankful your suit doesn’t require a corset, subordinate.”

“Do I want to know why Kym chose that particular sort of dress?”

“You’ll see,” she answers promptly, biting down on her lip to stifle a growl at Kieran’s answering smirk.

“I suppose I will.”

Something about his tone of voice makes Lauren’s core heat, oddly enough, but she heeds no attention to it. The more she pays attention to his motions, though, she begins to sense a pattern in them: he keeps deflecting attention to her in their conversation, eyes darting from side to side. She realizes with a jolt that he is actually _nervous_ about the entire affair.

The display of vulnerability with her is too much to handle.

“I’ll show you.”

He looks up.

“The dress, I mean.” Her cheeks must surely be on fire at this point. “You’re going to see it anyhow. It wouldn’t hurt for someone to see it beforehand and tell me if I’m putting it on wrong.”

“Just how complicated is this gown, Sinclair?” he asks jokingly, but a quiver in his voice remains. She shoves her chair back, placing her fork and knife on her half-finished plate of pancakes, and goes to the guest room to change. The grandfather clock that echoes through the apartment is nearly deafening in its _ticks_ as she inhales, unlocking the vanity in front of her, revealing a swath of black fabric over a hanger.

It’s an asymmetrical gown by all means: the majority of it is made up of a pooling fabric that stretches down to her feet. Midnight fabric covers one sleeve, and the collar juts up from the top of her chest to her right shoulder, where the other sleeve is made out of a translucent material, spirals of black rhinestones and diamonds swirling over her arm. The pattern trails down her abdomen until reaching her waist in a flourish; at the top of where a slit has been carved out of the skirt.

It’s not flashy, but it does by all means shout _look at me._

It takes her two tries to get in on completely, and even then, it’s difficult to lace up the corset and then zip up the entire thing. Lauren resists the urge to tear the gown to shreds as she walks back into the kitchen, hair in a messy bun. 

Kieran’s jaw has gone slack. She can’t read his expression.

“The back,” she says, eyes anywhere but on his. “You-”

“Of course.”

In a flash, he’s behind her, zipping up the dress. He’s too close for her liking again.

“You don’t look ridiculous.”

“Thanks for the compliment,” she says, trying her best to look him straight in the eye as she turns around. “Which is a first.”

“You haven’t seen my worst,” he teases, a mischievous look in his eye that makes Lauren want to run.

____

He is correct.

She has not seen his worst until now.

The royal ball is certainly a tepid one, but a crowded affair nonetheless. The Sinclairs are all here, in a ballroom that is wider than it is tall, with chandeliers carting thousands of diamonds worth sparkling high above them all. Arches in gilded gold hold up the infrastructure, with climbing alabaster and marble floors glimmering in a sea of people. Lauren tries her best to act the part of conducted ward and young maiden, but it’s all too difficult to do so when she keeps sneaking glances at her fellow officers patrolling the place, all too aware she looks like none of them. Her hand itches for her weapons; her uniform.

It is also difficult to concentrate when he is directly across from her, in a new suit, this one all in white to match his gloves. His hair is in its bun, and the crescent-shaped spectacles have not left his face.

Somehow, the glasses don’t bother her like they usually would.

“And Aunt Catherine, along with her niece Eloise,” Tristan finishes, gesturing to the last of the family. “A bit overwhelming for you, Lauren?”

**“Not at all,”** she says, smiling through her teeth smoothly. She will literally forget these people’s faces in ten seconds tops. “It’s nice to meet all...eleven of you.”

“Twelve.”

“Right.”

Across the room, she sees Kym give her a sympathetic wince.

She makes a small motion with her index and her throat when Tristan’s back is turned. 

“Is that one of your colleagues?” the Chief of Police asks, and Lauren startles as Kieran starts waving to her from a distance away, a smile at the edges of his mouth. The orchestra is starting to play somewhere, and she swallows dryly as she remembers their dance from last night. 

“It is,” she responds. “Looks like one of the waltzes is starting up soon.”

“Go ahead,” her uncle says, nudging her shoulder. There is something in his eyes that she cannot quite pinpoint. “I can handle the masses. You need a break for once, Lauren.”

She doesn’t have the time to object as Kieran perches himself next to her and makes direct eye contact with Tristan.

“Kieran White,” he says, tipping his head slightly. “It’s an honor to meet you, sir. Would you mind if I asked Lauren for the first dance?”

Lauren wonders if the screaming in her head can reach the outer parts of the universe with how loud it is. This cannot be happening. This cannot be actually happening.

The most _feared assassin in the city_ is _asking the Chief of Police_ for his _niece’s hand._

_Kieran White_ is asking for her hand from _Tristan Sinclair._

She sees Kym mouth something to Will, who promptly jolts at the sight of Lauren fiercely motioning to her neck and making circles around her brain as she mimes like a maniac to Kieran and Tristan, who cannot see her for only a second. 

But all the two do is try not to laugh, and Lauren plants her face in her hands. They don’t get the seriousness of the situation - how can they?

“Of course,” Tristan says, expression lightening up for a brief second. “You don’t mind, do you, Lauren? I think I’ve seen you two together a couple of times, haven’t I? You must be close.”

“You have no idea,” she chokes out as Kieran takes her by the elbow, carting her down to the floor.

____

“Told you practice would come in handy.”

“I want to die,” Lauren breathes out, clutching onto one of the pillars. “Who taught _you?!_ ”

“Parents,” Kieran says, shrugging as he plucks a glass of water off one of the nearest waiter’s trays, handing it to her. She downs the thing in one swallow, wiping at her brow. Thank goodness the scant makeup she’s donned hasn’t come off yet. “They were always adamant about raising quite the gentleman.”

“And the artist,” she says, cocking an eyebrow at him. “And an assassin.”

“We all have our hobbies.”

“Fair enough.”

“I’m not going out for another one,” she says, leaning beside him, motioning to the throng of dancers swaying like flowers in the wind. Her eyes flit to the flower in Kieran’s coat pocket. “Anemone.”

“Hmm?”

“Anemone,” she says, trailing her fingers over the petals. He goes suddenly quiet, as if she’s shocked him. Lauren’s hand hovers over red velvet, with a black bud in the center. “What does this one mean, dear archivist?” 

She’s the one being too close to him, now.

She doesn’t understand why she wants to be in his space.

“Forsaken,” he answers after what feels like centuries. “Forsaken love.”

“That’s awfully sad for a decorative choice, isn’t it?”

“It’s accurate.”

Before Lauren can ask him what he can possibly mean by that, a clock chimes loudly somewhere. It’s the midpoint of the ball, and the Aevasthers are soon to appear in public.

“I’m going to go freshen up,” she half-lies, eyes darting away from his as she dashes to the washroom. She ducks into an alcove, bursting into one of the ladies’ rooms, hands gripping onto the sink for stability. In the wide mirrors, she can see herself, flushed and hair slightly askew. 

Who this woman is, Lauren has no idea.

The perfume coming from the washroom is getting to her head.

“You’re not going to get derailed,” she says to herself. “You’re not going to derail your plans because of one little-”

“One little what?”

Lauren watches in horror as a pink-haired figure crosses into her line of sight.

The perfume is not perfume.

“It’s nothing personal, Sinclair,” Belladonna says, as she watches Lauren fall to the floor, vision slowly clouding over. “But I need you dead.”

____

“I haven’t seen Lauren in a while,” Kym says, picking at the watermelon skewers on her plate. “I’m beginning to get worried, Will.”

“I can tell. You’re barely touching the fruit.”

“Quit it,” she hisses, batting at his sleeve. “It’s not even watery!”

“I apologize for the watermelon not living up to your standards,” Will says, but Kym watches his blue eyes dart around the ballroom just like her own had been mere minutes ago. The frown deepens on his face when he realizes, too, that Lauren is nowhere to be seen. Kieran seems to be wandering around the room opposite from them, concern lacing his gaze.

“You don’t think-”

“We already misled Hermann with our past report this morning. I don’t think he could possibly out her and him.”

“That’s true, but I don’t trust that sniveling liar for one bit,” Kym says, walking in step with him. She cracks open one eye wider to wink at him.

“Vigilantism?”

“Vigilantism,” he says, for once, enthusiastic about the idea. 

“Lieutenant. Sergeant.”

Both of them freeze at the exact same moment.

“Sinclair’s gone missing,” Hermann says, anger palpable in the way he looks at both of them. Kym doesn’t dare glance at Will for a second; she could give away everything if she did. “And what’s more, some of your officers on patrol have too.”

She watches Will’s hands ball into fists.

This entire thing must remind him of-

Kym shakes off the urge to take his hand and looks her superior straight in the eye. “Should we begin a search, sir?”

“There’s no need.”

The voice is not Hermann’s.

Instead, it is Tristan’s, who cocks a gun straight at Hermann’s head at the exact same moment screams come from the ball. The ceiling shudders with the force of a loud _bang,_ and Kym’s eyes widen as she smells smoke - no, gas - pouring from the cracks of the ballroom.

They’re all going to be dead if they don’t find Lauren soon.

“Tristan, what the hell-”

“Enough pretending,” the man snarls, turning off the safety. “You’re in league with them, and it’s no use pretending otherwise, _Captain._ ”

“Lauren,” Kym whispers frantically to Will, heart beating in her chest like a drum. “I’ll get Kieran.”

“Don’t die.”

“I swear,” she says, trying for a smile as she loads the pistol at her belt as Will whistles for the other officers to come to his aid. _“Go.”_

____

When the explosion came and all hell broke loose, Kieran was the first to run straight towards the source of the poison bomb.

The river. They were going to take down the royal family, and then poison the river, of course _they would-_

Lauren.

Lauren has not been seen since she went to the bathroom; and the Phantom Scythe is here, probably ready to collect and extract him from the 11th. He doesn’t have his sword on him, but daggers work just fine, and he’ll tear down the entire organization if he has to to find her.

They’ve done something to her.

The thought sends Kieran’s mind into a rapid spiral down, down, down.

He needs to find her - _he needs to -_

Kieran bursts out of the ballroom, breathing in the fresh air outside of the smoking building. The officers are getting everyone out, but that’s not what his main priority is right now. He knows who’s done this.

_“Sake!”_

And lo and behold, her devil has appeared after two weeks of hiding, mask on and immune to the poison. 

Right outside the river, as he suspected.

“Come to join me, White?”

“Not quite.”

“Our accomplice shows his face at last,” purrs Belladonna, appearing from behind him, an identical black mask over her face. 

And a body slung over her shoulders. Her dress glittering like stars, auburn hair swinging like a baton.

Kieran’s vision goes red.

“Finally,” Sake says, clear annoyance in his voice. “I was wondering when Lune would show up.”

And before he can slaughter both of them for laying hands on his officer, Belladonna’s sword meets his head, and he collapses to the ground on his knees, the night coming to swallow him up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *me, dancing to the sound of your sobs*: HOLD ON TO YOUR LILY WHITE BUTTS.  
> 


	9. nascent nasturtium

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Lauren wakes, her hands are tied.
> 
> She bolts open, gasping for hair, hacking out breaths in the musty air. Through bleary eyes, she can barely make out where she is being kept: in one of the many underground chambers that run off to the sewers, with high brick arches and the scent of mold and waste everywhere. Chains are wrapped around her wrists, and she frantically pulls at her binds to no avail.
> 
> She is panicking.
> 
> This is the worst thing that could’ve happened.
> 
> “You’re not going to get out,” mutters a low voice, “and neither am I.”

When Lauren wakes, her hands are tied.

She bolts open, gasping for hair, hacking out breaths in the musty air. Through bleary eyes, she can barely make out where she is being kept: in one of the many underground chambers that run off to the sewers, with high brick arches and the scent of mold and waste everywhere. Chains are wrapped around her wrists, and she frantically pulls at her binds to no avail.

She is panicking.

This is the worst thing that could’ve happened.

“You’re not going to get out,” mutters a low voice, “and neither am I.”

Lauren whirls around to find Kieran tied to the same set of chains she is, bun now a ragged ponytail. He has a large purple bruise on his forehead, and the grin he throws at her is strained. “Hello, officer.”

“You idiot,” she exclaims, agony coursing through every fiber of her muscle. “You went after me, didn’t you?”

“Spot-on.”

“Idiot,” she cries out, slamming her back into his. “You shouldn’t have. You shouldn’t!”

“They were going to _capture you_ -”

“And now we’re both stuck here,” she hisses. Lauren bores into him with her fiery gaze. “You should’ve left me behind. You could’ve told the others where Tim and Belladonna were, but you didn’t, and now we’re both entirely _screwed._ ”

“You think I didn’t know that?” he retorts. 

“Then _why?!_ ”

“This is all very touching, but we really do need to interrupt your fun,” Bella drawls from the sidelines, and they both swivel around to look at her. She inspects the sword in her hands, finger trailing over the blade. From the way it shines in the light, Lauren can tell she’s coated it with her signature poison. 

“Hello, old friend,” Kieran says, giving Lauren a look that clearly says _shut up._

“See, I wish I could return the favor,” Bella says, swinging the shortsword in the air. “I really wish I could. But unfortunately, your true colors have begun to show, dear.”

“Ah,” he says, and Lauren feels her blood run cold, “so the gig is up, hm?”

One of his hands interlock with hers.

It is not to comfort her: he is the one who is afraid.

She squeezes back.

“Unfortunately.” The assassin sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Tim’s gone to check in with the Leader. Ardhalis will be one step closer to doom at the end of today, and really, Kieran, I really do wish I’d been with you to see it when it came. We’re old friends. But you just had to go against the Leader, didn’t you?”

“We all know why you’re here, Bella,” he grits out. “Don’t pretend otherwise.”

“And that’s the difference between you and me,” she says, heels clicking on the dirt floor as she steps closer to them. “None of us want to be here, but you’re the only one foolish enough to get attached. Thought they whipped that part out of you.”

Lauren cannot help making a strangled noise at the last part of Belladonna's speech. 

Now she knows where his past scars come from.

Stars above, she’s been so _blind._

“Like you’re not the Leader’s loyal lapdog.”

“He has his reasons,” Bella says, kneeling next to Lauren. She does not move an inch as the assassin takes in every bit of her face, eyes flitting up to the cuts on her pale skin. “And so do you, don’t you. Your little officer here.”

“As if I’d-”

“You were always so terrible at lying!” she says, erupting in mirthful laughter. “Even now. You were an open book outside the building, White. You were ready to kill for her. Weren’t you? Ready,” she says, plucking a nonexistent speck of dirt off Lauren’s hair, “to do _anything_ \- even betray your associates and leaders of seven years - just for a set of pretty eyes.”

“Thanks for the compliment,” Lauren blurts out, and wonders if Kieran has rubbed off on her for a second. 

All Belladonna does is smile coldly in response. “You won’t be thanking me in a second.”

“Going to kill us?”

“Why would I do that?” she says, sheathing her sword, the golden hilt of the sheath sparking in the light. She can make out the emblem of a dragon on it. “That would be foolish of me. Besides, you’re both needed. For different reasons of course. But the one thing you do have in common is that you’re both traitors. Ardhalis won’t be thanking either of you.”

“Oh, they’ll thank us when we’ve saved them from death,” Kieran drawls. “It’s interesting, isn’t it? How appreciation goes the opposite way when you’ve saved dozens - thousands - of lives from a swift and certain doom by poisoned water?”

“Well, we considered a plague at first, but we’re killers.”

“How creative.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Belladonna says, watching as a hooded figure with a plague doctor’s mask on comes in. The beaked man - she can tell by its figure - casts black eyes on both of them, and she shivers; not from the cold.

_“These are Lune, yes?”_

“In the flesh. Have you checked in with Seven and Three?”

_“Both are missing. We suspect several officers under Hermann’s eye rebelled against his orders to flee the ball and instead ended up capturing our own.”_

_Kym and Will,_ she realizes, panic seeping into her brain. _What happened to them?!_

“The Leader won’t be happy about this,” she sighs, and without warning, strikes Lauren in the head. She falls to the side, doubling over in pain.

“Lauren!”

“So you do love her,” Belladonna says, smirking. 

_Love?_

She can’t be thinking straight. He doesn’t _love_ her, not by a thousand miles. 

“You’re wrong.”

“I’m wrong, officer?” Belladonna says, laughing again. It’s starting to get on her nerves. “Just take one look at him. And tell me, then, little lie detector, if he’s _lying._ ”

“You’re wrong,” is all she can manage to croak out, falling back onto Kieran’s weight. He is suspiciously silent about the entire affair. “You’re wrong. His reasons for this are his own.”

“Oh, you thought he started to fall for you while he made his bargain with you? Wrong again, officer. Now I know why the entire 11th precinct is full of incompetents.” She opens the side of her bottle-green coat, and Lauren watches as she pulls an obsidian dagger from a row of glittering knives. “He’s been watching you from the start. For quite a while, even. I never knew who he talked about in his sleep, but now I suspect I know the friend he lost.”

“Friend,” Lauren says numbly.

“Friend,” Belladonna repeats. “Your little assassin over here is the Aveasther’s lost heir. And you, Sinclair. Don’t you recall that little friend of yours, too, lost in the Allendale incident? Besides that other friend,” she snorts. “Which Tim told me all about. What a noble cause.”

She can’t help looking at him then.

“You’re an idiot,” she breathes, and he smiles at her. He should not be smiling at her. **“I hate you.”**

“I know.”

“Send word,” Belladonna says, motioning to the Apostle. “I have all I need.”

“You know, if you killed us, it’d be quicker.”

“Oh, but I prefer a slower death,” the assassin says, walking into the shadows of the tunnel in front of them. “You of all people know that, Sinclair. I’ll see you both very, _very_ soon.”

____

“So he-” Kym says, motioning to the unconscious figure of Hermann that sits in a chair, “was part of the Scythe all along? And sending Lauren into a wild goose chase because he knew she was part of-”

“Lune, who you were trying to capture,” Tristan says, running a hand through his graying hair. “But yes, essentially, that was his plan. To destroy the 11th from the inside while killing two birds with one stone, because he knew the attachment all three - four - of you had.”

“I hate this man even more,” Will mutters, kicking the leg of the chair Hermann resides on.

“Can we set up a dartboard with his face on it when this is over?”

“For once, Kym, I will agree to your plan.”

“That’s the second time this week you’ve said yes,” she squeals, and grips onto his arm with excitement. “Vigilantes!”

“Only until we get those two back!” Will exclaims, but loops an arm over her shoulders good-naturedly, smiling. “Promise?”

“I will make no such promises.”

_“Sergeant.”_

Tristan hacks loudly into his palm.

“Sorry,” both of them blurt out, prying apart.

“All the evacuees got out safely,” Tristan says, pacing back and forth in the captain’s office. “But that still doesn’t rule out the Scythe’s plans for the city. We have an Apostle in our cells on the first floor, but there’s no way to blackmail them into stopping a mass occurrence of deaths.”

“If we could find out where those bombs are being manufactured, we could stop distribution,” Kym says, coming forward. “Or at least where the poisons are coming from.”

“That still leaves both Lauren and Kieran in danger,” Will says grimly. “We still don’t know where the Phantom Scythe has taken them.”

The Chief of Police pauses in his tracks.

“Both sides,” he mutters to himself. “I should’ve seen this coming.”

“Sir?”

“Lune was operating from two sides,” he says slowly. “My niece worked her way around the legal side of things. Making sure there could be no unnecessary punishment for both of them - or at least one that would leave them alive. The other half-”

Kym realizes it before Will does.

“Sir, if she was working with Kieran as an _assassin_ -”

“Like Harvey,” Will mutters under his breath, and she watches the bitterness in his eyes grow. “But Kieran hasn’t betrayed Lauren yet.”

“He might’ve before,” Kym spits out. “I have a funny feeling they weren’t really exes.”

He swears lowly.

“So now Lauren’s in the hands of an assassin who could very well kill her,” Tristan says, clasping his hand over his face. 

She swallows dryly. 

“Not just any assassin.”

Kym fiddles with the purple hyacinth in her pocket.

____

They don’t talk when Belladonna leaves for a solid minute.

Lauren cannot stop thinking about the assassin’s words.

_A pair of pretty eyes._

_You love her._

_Tell me then, little lie detector, if he’s lying-_

“Why?”

He doesn’t ask what she’s talking about. Kieran knows, from the way he breathes in, a low rasp. Lauren nudges at the chains binding their wrists together, and starts looking around for a sharp object; anything. They’ve taken his daggers and her knives.

“I didn’t want to complicate what we had.”

“What we had at first was a lie,” she says, and her voice breaks as tears prick at her eyes. “What we had at first was _nothing._ Trust that was really nothing. And then we rebuilt it, only for me to find out you’ve been hiding from me all this while? The actual truth?!”

“Lauren, even if I had told you from the beginning-”

_“Then everything would’ve been different,”_ she yells, full-on sobbing into her gown. “You _know_ it would’ve been.”

He curls his pinky around her own.

“Do you remember?”

She shakes off the weight of her sadness, eyes continuing to search. “Of course I do.”

“I knew your...friend,” Kieran says slowly. “He was taken at the same time I was. I don’t know what happened to him after we took our vows. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize.” She lets salt trickle down her cheeks tiredly. “I already know. You were my friend, too.”

The double meaning in her words doesn’t fail to meet him.

Something glints on the floor from a few feet away, and Lauren’s eyes widen as she realizes as it is a broken bottle neck. She motions to Kieran, who turns around, and silently urges them to start moving; they don’t know when she’ll be back.

It takes them a few tries to shuffle over to the bottle, but the second they get it under their hands, Lauren manages to not cut her palm on the thing, stuffing the sharp point of it under the lock where their chains are.

“Twist,” she pants, sweat forming on her brow with the effort of her concentration. “On my count.”

He nods. 

“One, two - _three, now,_ ” she grunts, picking at the mechanism. It takes what seems like ages to get it open, but the second the lock breaks, Lauren twists out of the chains, falling to the ground on her hands. She stumbles into a standing position, reaching for Kieran as a reflex - stepping back slightly when he reaches for her, as if to catch her.

“I’m fine,” she says, brushing her skirt off. “Damn dress. We need to get out of here.”

“I know the tunnels,” he says, and for a second, he looks like his old self, all arrogance, but it disappears in a flash. He reaches for her hand, and before she can object, they’re running, Lauren hiking up the hem of her gown as they do.

She can only hope they make it out of this alive.

____

The Sixth Apostle looks annoyed at being dragged out for a public blackmailing session.

“The Purple Hyacinth won’t kill your...friend.”

“I’m not trusting anything you say,” Kym hisses, watching as the patrol unit gathers around the Ardhalis port. “Where’s the _Ameles?_ We’re getting both of them out alive, and if you dare to-”

“Preparations are already underway,” the male voice drones from behind the plague mask. “You cannot stop what is coming, offic-”

“That’s _Sergeant,_ ” Lukas retorts, kicking the Apostle in the back. “Where the hell is the ship?”

The Apostle only laughs, even as Tristan comes around to face him head on.

“You have nothing I want in order for that information.”

Will glances over at Kym, who nods.

“Go ahead.”

“Well,” Will says, pulling the Apostle forward by his collar, teeth clenched, “I’d hate to disagree, Mr. Vale.”

The Apostle falls silent.

“Lieutenant-”

“Trust me, sir,” he says to Tristan, holding up a hand. He turns back to the Apostle, and Kym grins with wicked pleasure as he holds up a picture of a man and two children.

“You do seem to have attachments. Actually, quite the number of Scythe members, do, actually. So it would be a shame if those _attachments_ were harmed in any way-”

“The third port,” the Apostle drones, but chuckles mirthlessly. “Even if you save this city, you cannot save _her._ ”

“If you’re threatening Lauren, I’ll-”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Sergeant,” he says, holding up his hands as Kym levies her pistol at him. “It’s not the Purple Hyacinth who will be the end of your officer’s life. Or at least not in the way you think he will be.”

____

There is gunfire.

Lauren trips and falls onto the snowy ground of the sewers, still cold and dry. Flowers are still blooming in the corners of the tunnels, though - she can spot nasturtiums, rare life, in shades of orange and cold in the cracks. Kieran hovers above her, eyes dilated like the eyes of a killer.

The eyes of a protector.

“They’re here.”

“Run,” he whispers in her ear, pulling her forward.

A bullet grazes her leg, and she winces, but keeps going as members of the Scythe chase after them, weapons in hand. Kieran pulls her through another tunnel, and they skid down a slippery slope as water drips down from the cracks in the cobblestones above, listening for where the shouts are.

And as they’re about to cross into another, a man in black appears with a pistol that is far larger than her own.

Before Kieran can react, Lauren ducks forward, stabbing him with the hilt of the bottle she’d carried from earlier.

_“Go!”_ she yells at Kieran, twisting his arm behind him, knocking him down onto the ground.

When she arises, bloody and bruised, he’s still there, and she doesn’t have the time to yell at him for being a bigger idiot than she is, so instead runs with him into an alcove. 

“You shouldn’t have-”

“We don’t leave each other,” he says, and his smile is strained.

Lauren doesn’t see him clutching at his waist.

“Moron,” she hisses under her breath, but her head tilts upward as they find a sewer opening, the sounds of sirens growing louder. They’re here.

Frantically, they scramble to open the circular door, Lauren climbing up the ladder first. She yells hoarsely for the patrol unit to notice her, and her heart nearly bursts out of his chest when she sees Kym and Will there, whole and alive. 

And then panics when Kieran comes out behind her, and all the officers levy their guns at him.

“Lauren, get out of the way!”

“Kym, it’s fine, it’s not-”

Kieran collapses onto the ground next to her.

There is blood on his midriff.

_We don’t leave each other._

She realizes later that the high-pitched screaming is coming from her, but for now, falls to her knees, frantically covering his wound. His eyes are glazed over, and Lauren trembles with tears as Kieran strokes her hair, fingers slipping in-between strands of auburn.

“You’re not dying,” she growls. “Not on my watch, idiot, we’re supposed to protect each other, _you promised-_ ”

“I mean it,” he says, wincing as he slides his shirt aside.

Lauren realizes a bulletproof vest lies underneath.

The blood is not his.

She breaks into nervous laughter. It grows louder by the second.

“You’re such an idiot.”

“You first,” she says, and doesn’t care what the entire 11th precinct thinks as she bends down to kiss him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WE'RE ALMOST THERE, FOLKS!
> 
> (Whew, that was a doozy, wasn't it?)


	10. radiant rose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "We'll figure it out," she promises, clutching his hand as they stand underneath a sunset, watching the clouds flit by. "One step at a time."

_**ONE MONTH LATER** _

“So, this one’s...Eloise?”

“No, this one’s Celeste,” Kieran says, ruffling the black wool of the sheep. He points to a gray one in the corner, munching on hay. “ _This_ is Eloise. And those over there are her sisters. Angelica, Adelina, and Anna.”

“Why is she the only ‘E’ in a series of ‘A’s?”

“Because she’s the only one that wakes up at midnight and starts waking up all the cows.”

Lauren tries to hold in her laughter. It doesn’t work. The entire back of Kieran’s farm in the outskirts of Ardhalis - the country - is currently occupied with sheep grazing over the hay and the meadows beyond, swaying in the wind with wildflowers that have sprung up in the new spring.

“Interesting naming system, but fair enough.”

“What, do you have a better suggestion, _detective?_ ” he says, grinning as he sidles up to her, wrapping both arms around her waist as she reaches up to scratch his chin, kissing him on the small of his neck.

“Well, since I’ve just been promoted, and Hermann’s been fired, which leaves Will as the new captain...I think I have the right to name one of your sheep.”

“Which one?”

“You haven’t named all of them?”

“Do you understand how fast sheep repopulate, Lauren?”

“Not really,” she says, giggling as she falls onto a stack of hay.

“It. Isn’t funny.”

“What’s funny, _assassin,_ is how many hyacinths you manage to grow in your garden,” she says, gesturing with her thumb to the front of the crimson-colored barnhouse. “With lavender. And not get the two confused.”

“It would be suspicious if I only raised one type, wouldn’t it?”

“Then don’t raise one type,” she says, holding his hand as he comes to sit with her on a stack of hay. “You shouldn’t have to, anymore. The courthouse already granted you pardon and exile here for about five months. Let’s start anew.”

“And you’re staying?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” she says, sitting up, brushing hay out of her hair. “I’m not leaving you, Kieran.”

All he does is smile softly in response.

“Here.”

She looks down to see him holding a red rose. It’s gorgeous, in full bloom, too.

“You-”

“It suits you,” he says, tucking it into her hair. “It’s beautiful, just like you.”

“Smooth talker,” she says, nudging him as he grins.

“Aren’t I always?”

Lauren sighs contentedly, their foreheads touching as they watch the sky.

"We have time,” she reassures him. “And we'll figure it out," she promises, clutching his hand as they stand underneath a sunset, watching the clouds flit by. 

"One step at a time."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dearest friends,
> 
> When I started this fic, I could barely fathom the incredible response I'd get from it. I initially started this work as a fun little absurdist AU that would have no chance of becoming canon after Season 1, but it's become so much more in your hands. Every comment, hit, kudos, bookmark - it's impacted me so much more than you know. From the bottom of my heart: thank you, thank you, thank you.
> 
> And here comes the good news and slightly less pleasant news: my multichapter fic that is also a Season 2 AU, Cities Under Crowns, will get a regular update schedule now that both 'workplace conversations' and 'honey, i'm potent' are finished. Unfortunately, life calls, and classes, fic planning, and other various related things are also a thing. I will be attempting to distance myself from distractions as much as possible: therefore, Cities Under Crowns will not be updated until July, on the PRECISE release day of Season 2. Afterwards, it will be updated every two to three weeks, at approximately 6 pm pst/9 pm est, with exceptions always possible. I know long-running fans of 'workplace' and enemies to lovers consumers ESPECIALLY will be pleased with the end product - and its sequel to complete the War of the Foxes series.
> 
> Thank you for coming on just one of Lauren, Kieran, Kym and Will's journeys - but one that has been quite the journey to go on, for you and me both. Without you, dear readers, and you, dear creators, Soph and Eph, this would've never been possible.
> 
> I'll see you all soon.
> 
> With love as always,  
> Luna <3


	11. harmonious heather

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So y’all might’ve noticed the chapter count for ‘workplace’ went up. That’s because our favorite little rom-com AU decided to bash me over the head with a hammer, and yell ‘holiday party’ outtake at me. Why? Because in Chapter 7, I initially considered writing in a holiday party fluff chapter, but didn’t out of consideration for the plot. And now that WOTF has been put to rest...well, let’s just say that this has been a gift from me to you.
> 
> If you want to think of this as WC canon or not, feel free to interpret it either way, because it has virtually no impact on the plot whatsoever. Or does it?

There are flowers everywhere. 

Lauren’s gotten used to this by now, but seeing bouquets of witch-hazel, lily of the valleys and sprigs of lavender-colored heather is quite the shock to contrast with the icy atmosphere outside the 11th precinct building.

It’s not as much of a shock as Kym popping a bottle of champagne in her face, though.

_“Happy Winter Solstice!”_

“You’re going to blind me,” she hacks out as the blue-haired sergeant pours the bubbly liquid into a flute. “And what’s with the redecorating?” she asks, motioning to the baubles on the ceilings of the office. Blue and white, lined with laurel-like wreaths of sparkling substance. Lauren suddenly feels uncomfortable in a throng of multiple people crowded around the room, even though most are in groups and not paying attention to her. “We don’t usually go all out for the holidays.”

“Oh, that was your boyfriend’s work.”

“Of course it was,” Lauren says, an eye twitching as she nearly cracks the glass of champagne in her hand. “The captains didn’t mind?”

“I blackmailed Hermann into letting him ruin the place. Don’t ask.”

“Of course you did,” she sighs, feeling all the fight leave her soul and levitate upwards for the second time that day. “For once, I’m grateful that you did.”

“For once,” Kym scoffs, slinging an arm around her shoulder. “You know you have me as your knight in shining armor. Forever and always.”

“Never doubted that for a second.”

But a flash of blue catches her eye, and Lauren is momentarily left breathless as she sees Kieran White wave her over. He’s perched by one of the windows, holding a similar glass in his hand, hair adorned with a blue ribbon to match the cerulean of his eyes. For once, he isn’t dressed in his archivist outfit, but instead in an olive-green coat over a blouse that doesn’t look out-of-place in an officer’s uniform. He mimicked her to some degree, Lauren realizes. It makes her chest heat in an odd way. Confusion crashes over her as he gestures to her again, a small smirk crossing his features as he holds a thin, wide box in his hands.

Oh, there’s no way in hell—

She snatches the nearest gift on the gift table and ventures over to him. Lauren mirrors his expression as he crosses the room to get to him, but when she does, he raises a finger to his lips.

“Not yet.”

“What—”

“Outside,” he says, and she lets him tug her by the hand out of the office and into the nearest elevator. She can hear small wolf-whistles as they do, one of them being from a nearby Kym perched on Will’s lap; said lieutenant is blushing harder than a tomato in full bloom. Lauren chuckles to herself as the elevator begins its descent downwards.

“You got me a gift.”

“You forgot, officer.” He rolls his eyes as she stutters. “Yes, I saw that. You’re a terrible girlfriend. Do you treat all your significant others like this?”

“Only arrogant assassins,” she quips, a beat of hesitation passing between them as the elevator dings open. “I can’t believe this is all for show.”

“Partially,” he confesses. When they step outside, the snow is tumbling around them in flakes, Lauren raising her hands to cup the melting storm in her hands.

“It’s beautiful.”

“It is,” Kieran concedes, but not before he rips his gaze away from her. “Here.”

She takes hold of the box in his hands. Lauren had an inkling of what it was before she even opened it, and the first ripping of paper only confirms her suspicions. A woolen sweater looks up at her, with numerous, _numerous_ furry animals threaded onto the crimson.

They are llamas.

**“I hate you.”**

**“I hate you even more,”** Kieran quips, turning his own sweater around. It’s blue with a hoodie attached to it, and on the front is a googly-eyed cheesecake.

Lauren promptly bursts into laughter.

“I didn’t even—”

“Yes, you did,” he says, as she emerges upright, wiping away tears. “And you’re terrible at sweater choices.”

“Well, now we’re even,” she says, hands on her hips, smiling. He smiles back.

And she is content, then, to let her worries aside for only a moment, and to stand with Kieran under the light of the winter sky - even if it is, then, only in this borrowed moment of time.


End file.
